LIBRARY 

OF   THK 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

GIFT  OF 

BOARD  OF  LADY  MANAGER'S  ALAMEDA  CO.  WORLD'S  FAIR  ASSOCIATION 


Received 

Accession  No. 


SI? 


POETRY. 


WAYSIDE  THOUGHTS, 


A   COLLECTION    OF    POEMS   OX    VARIOUS    SUBJECTS 


SACRED,     SPECIAL, 


TRIBUTARY. 


WITH    SOME    FEW    THOUGHTS    IN    PROSE. 


BY 

MRS.    SUSAN   RICHARDS, 

ALAMEDA,    CAL. 


PACIFIC    PRESS    PUBLISHING    HOUSE, 
TWELFTH  AND  CASTRO  STREETS,  OAKLAND. 

529    COMMERCIAL    STREET,    S.     F. 


r\icl)(2ird 


s. 


THIS  Little  Book  is  affectionately  dedicated 

to  my  dearly  beloved  children,  at  whose  desire  it 

is  published,  and  to  whom  I  trust  it  will  prove  a  source 

of  sweet  remembrances  when  the  writer  shall  have 

passed  into  the  "Land  beyond  the  River." 

THE  AUTHOR. 


Of  THB 

WVBRSITY; 


CONTENTS. 


THE  LOVE  OF  THE  SAVIOUR 9 

CONFIDENCE 13 

SPEAK  SOFTLY 16 

BE  YE  ALSO  READY 18 

THE  HEART 21 

THE  PEACE  OF  JESUS 23 

THE  BETTER  LAND 25 

THE  TREE  OF  LIFE  29 

MY  TIMES  ARE  IN  THY  HAND 31 

THE  BEAUTIFUL  LAND 33 

THOUGHTS  ON  DEATH 35 

THE  HEAVENLY  INHERITANCE 37 

THE  WHISPERER 39 

DEAD  FLIES 41 

THE  HIGHER  LIFE 44 

THE  SECRET  PLACE 47 

GOLDEN  APPLES.  .                                   49 


iv  CONTENTS. 

THE  WORLD 51 

THE  TREE  OF  METHODISM 53 

FAREWELL  TO  LINCOLN 57 

FAREWELL  TO  SLAVERY 59 

THE  RAINBOW  OF  JULY  3,  1865 62 

THE  FOURTH — RECITATION  FOR  BOY  OR  GIRI 63 

GRANDMA'S  CHRISTMAS 67 

CHRISTMAS 73 

THE  BABY  OF  BETHLEHEM 75 

FAREWELL  OLD  YEAR 77 

SPIRITISM 80 

THE  WHISPERER 84 

HE  COUNTETH  MY  STEPS 86 

THE  HOUSE  OF  PRAYER 87 

WOE  TO  THEM  THAT  ARE  AT  EASE  IN  ZION 88 

HE  LEADETH  ME 90 

TRUST  IN  THE  LORD.  . 91 

BIRTHDAY  GATHERINGS — OF  OLD  LADIES 95 

MRS.  MOSES'  EIGHTIETH  BIRTHDAY 97 

MRS.  WALKING-TON'S  SEVENTY-FOURTH  BIRTHDAY 98 

MRS.  GERALD'S  SEVENTY-FIFTH  BIRTHDAY 101 

MRS.  GERALD'S  DEATH 103 

MRS.  MORALEE'S  DEATH 104 

MRS.  MOSES'  EIGHTY-THIRD  BIRTHDAY 106 

MRS.  MOSES'  DEATH 109 

THE  EVENING  OF  LIFE — MRS.  GILBERT'S  PARTY no 

OLD  HYMNS,  No.  i 113 


CONTENTS.  v 

OLD  HYMNS,  Xo.  2 115 

SORROWS  OF  THE  HEART 121 

HYMN,  WHEN  STORMS  ARE  BURSTING  O'ER  MY  HEAD 125 

HYMN,  JESUS,  LET  ME  TO  THEE  COME 126 

DEATH  OF  A  BABE 127 

ACROSTIC,  TAI.IESIX , 129 

DEATH  OF  TALIESIN 130 

DEATH  OF  FRANK 132 

DEATH  OF  A  YOUNG  LADY 133 

DEATH  OF  A  FRIEND 135 

DEATH  OF  ELIZA 1 38 

FAREWELL  TO  CHARLIE 141 

DEATH  OF  MAMIE 143 

DEATH  OF  A  MOTHER 145 

BABY'S  DEATH 147 

LINES  FOR  INFANT'S  TOMBSTONE 148 

A  BEREAVED  MOTHER * 149 

THE  BRIDE 150 

THE  HOUSE  OF  GOD 155 

TEMPERANCE  CRUSADE 159 

TOBACCO ...  161 

THE  PAST , 164 

EVERY-DAY  SCENES 166 

THE  LITTLE  STRANGER 168 

FLIRTATION 169 

To  MY  FATHER  IN  ENGLAND 171 

REMEMBRANCE 173 


vi  CONTENTS. 

MY  COUNTRY •  175 

ACROSTIC,  WALTER  LEWIS  GEORGE 177 

ISABELLA'S  NATAL  DAY   178 

TRUE  RELIGION 180 

IF  WE  ONLY  KNEW 181 

VAIN  WISHES 183 

SAILOR'S  WIFE'S  ADIEU 184 

THE  POOR 186 

LOST 187 

LITTLE  TWO-YEAR-OLD 189 

FLOWERS  IN  HEAVEN 190 

OUR  TROUBLES 187 

A  DREAM 192 

AN  ENIGMA 197 

ADDRESS .  202 


RELIQIOUS    POEMS. 


UHIVBESITT 


THE  LOVE  OF  THE  SAVIOUR. 


OME  write  of  the  love  of  the  youth  and  the  maiden; 
With  books  on  the  subject  our  shelves  are  all  laden; 
Some  write  upon  friendship,  one  man  for  another ; 
A  few  have  attempted  the  love  of  a  mother; 
I  will  write  of  a  love  that  does  all  these  excel; 
Tis  the  love  of  the  Saviour.     Ah,  who  can  it  tell! 

It  dawned  in  the  garden,  but  the  morning  was  far; 
It  beamed  on  for  ages,  like  a  glimmering  star, 
From  Eden  to  Bethlehem,  tho'  dim  was  the  light, 
'Til  it  burst  on  the  shepherds  in  glory  at  night. 
Then  it  brought  down  from  Heaven  the  angelic  throng, 
And  it  caused  them  to  sing  that  beautiful  song. 

It  was  love  sent  the  star  that  directed  the  road 
Which  led  right  to  the  dear  little  stranger's  abode. 
There  he  lay  in  the  manger — so  peaceful,  so  sweet, 
While  the  sages  brought  presents,  and  laid  at  his  feet. 
Oh,  the  love  of  the  Saviour!     Ah,  see  where  it  smiled 
In  the  soul-speaking  eyes  of  that  beautiful  child ! 


10  RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 

In  the  days  of  his  childhood,  the  home  of  his  youth, 
How  pure  his  behavior,  full  of  wisdom* and  truth! 
And  when  grown  up  a  man  full  of  sorrows  he  stood; 
Love  to  all  was  his  labor,  his  meat  to  do  good; 
To  the  sad  and  the  poor,  and  the  hearts  that  were  broke, 
Oh,  the  beautiful  words  he  in  tenderness  spoke! 

'Twas  privation  and  poverty,  malice,  distress 
He  received  from  their  hands  whom  he  came  to  bless; 
Yet  how  softly  he  walked  over  life's  thorny  path! 
Who  can  point  out  a  fault  from  his  birth  to  his  death? 
He  gave  rest  to  the  weary,  sweet  peace  from  on  high, 
But  his  own  aching  head  he  had  no  place  to  lie. 

When  he  sweat  in  the  garden  in  anguish  and  woe, 
'Twas  an  angel  hand  wiped  the  big  drops  from  his  brow, 
For  the  few  that  did  love  him  had  laid  down  to  rest, 
And  forgotten  their  Master's  most  touching  request. 
Their  eyes,  they  were  heavy,  soon  they  fell  fast  asleep, 
And  there  left  him  in  silence  to  watch  and  to  weep. 

His  foes  took  him  to  judgment,  to  torture,  to  death, 
But  no  word  of  reproach  escaped  from  his  breath. 
Oh,  that  deep,  heavy  darkness,  without  a  relief! 
Yet,  in  midst  of  it  all,  he  could  pardon  the  thief. 
Ah,  say,  is  it  nothing,  Oh,  all  ye  who  pass  by, 
That  so  lovely  a  being  should  suffer  and  die? 


LOVE   OF  THE  SAVIOUR.  11 

The  love  of  the  Saviour!   Soon  it  burst  from  the  grave, 
Triumphant  in  power,  and  almighty  to  save, 
Met  the  sorrowing  few  as  in  sadness  they  rove, 
Gave  them  their  commission  and  then  went  up  above, 
Sent  the  Comforter  down,  who  he  said  should  descend, 
And  promised  to  be  with  his  church  to  the  end. 

The  love  of  the  Saviour!   It  is  life  from  the  dead; 
'Tis  a  well-spring  of  water,  'tis  heavenly  bread; 
'Tis  a  fountain  of  joy,  to  cheer  life's  saddest  .hours, 
And  make  of  a  desert  a  garden  of  flowers; 
'Tis  a  bright  ray  of  sunshine  o'er  earth's  darkest  path; 
'Tis  a  rod  and  a  staff  in  the  valley  of  death. 

The  love  of  the  Saviour!  'Tis  a  song  in  the  night; 

'Tis  a  river  of  peace,  'tis  a  sea  of  delight; 

The  key-note  of  the  tunes  sung  by  heavenly  choirs 

To  the  golden  harp  music  and  seraphic  lyres. 

But  oh!  sweeter  than  this,  'tis  the  song  of  the  blest; 

Yes,  the  beautiful  song  of  the  weary  at  rest. 

The  love  of  the  Saviour!  Oh,  the   theme  is  too  high  ; 
O'erwhelmed  with  its  greatness,  my  pen  I  lay  by. 
These  few  thoughts  my  poor  heart  hath  set  all  a-glow. 
Oh,  I  \vish  all  the  world  that  same  rapture  might  know ! 
Tis  eternity's  work;  nor  too  long  will  it  prove 
For  all  his  redeemed  ones  to  tell  of  his  love. 


12  RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 

The  love  of  the  Saviour !   Dear  friend,  have  you  found  it  ? 

Then  to  sinners  around  go  tell  all  about  it. 

Go  tell  it  the  prayerless,  the  thoughtless,  the  gay ; 

Ah,  yes,  tell  it  those  who  are  passing  away. 

Both  at  home  and  abroad,  and  when  by  the  way-side, 

Oh,  remember  the  love  of  the  once  crucified. 


CONFIDENCE. 

Casting  all  your  care  upon  him,  for  he  careth  for  you."     I  Peter  5:7. 

'TIS  sweet  to  be  alone  with  God 

In  sorrows  tearful  hour, 
Lie  all  resigned  beneath  his  rod, 

Trust  his  love  and  power. 

Tis  sweet  to  tell  him  every  grief, 
Although  in  broken  speech, 

For  those  deep  wounds  he'll  find  relief 
No  other  hand  can  reach. 

'Tis  sweet  to  take  him  all  my  care 

When  no  one  else  is  by, 
No  stranger  eye  to  watch  the  tear, 

No  ear  to  catch  the  sigh. 

'Tis  sweet  when  bowed  beneath  a  cross, 

Whose  weight  is  agony, 
As  head  and  heart  with  anguish  toss, 

To  know  he  cares  for  me. 


14  RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 

Sweet,  when  the  waves  of  trouble  roll, 
And  adverse  winds  blow  chill, 

To  lean  on  him  my  fainting  soul, 
And  know  the  storm   he'll  still. 

Sweet  as  the  billows  o'er  me  sweep, 
And  threaten  to  o'erwhelm, 

To  know  that  naught  can  wreck  the  ship 
With  Jesus  at  the  helm. 

Sweet,  when  the  clouds  have  hid  my  sky 

And  covered  every  star, 
To  know  they're  only  passing  by — 

The  silver  lining's  there. 

Sweet,  when  thorns  have  pierced  my  feet 
From  off  some  rugged  road, 

To  know  the  roughest  path  I  meet 
Will  lead  to  his  abode. 


Sweet,  as  the  dear  ones  pass  away 
To  sleep  beneath  the  sod, 

To  know,  though  here  awhile  I  stay, 
I'll  find  them  safe  with  God. 


CONFIDENCE.  15 

Sweet,  as  life's  toiling  day  moves  on, 

And  brings  approaching  night, 
To  know,  as  sinks  my  setting  sun, 

At  eve  it  shall  be  light 

Sweet,  as  the  vale  of  death  appears, 

To  meet  that  cheering  ray, 
And  know,  as  drops  the  parting  tears, 

He'll  wipe  them  all  away. 

Sweet,  as  I  near  the  Jordan's  stream, 

To  know  he'll  bear  me  o'er, 
And  take  me  home  to  dwell  with  him 

Forever,  evermore. 


SPEAK  SOFTLY. 

'A  soft  answer  turheth  away  wrath."     Prov.  15:1.      "Pleasant    words   are  as   a   honey* 
comb,  swee:  to  the  soul,  and  health  to  the  bones."     Prov.  16:  24. 

SPEAK  softly,  mother,  to  thy  child; 

Twill  make  it  love  thy  name; 
Teach  it  in  accents  meek  and  mild; 

Twill  learn  to  speak  the  same. 

Speak  softly,  father,  to  thy  son, 

With  boyish  spirits  gay, 
And  your  commands  will  then  be  done; 

He'll  cheerfully  obey. 

Speak  softly,  husband,  to  thy  wife; 

Grieve  not  her  gentle  breast; 
To  thee  she  gave  herself  for  life, 

Make  not  that  life  unblest. 

Speak  softly,  wife,  to  him  who  toils 

Thy  comforts  to  provide, 
And  meet  him  with  a  face  of  smiles; 

Twill  keep  him  by  thy  side. 

Speak  softly  to  the  youthful  throng; 

Crosses  enough  they'll  meet; 
Who  knows  what  storms  are  o'er  them  hung 

In  future  days  to  beat. 


SPEAK  SOFTLY.  17 

Speak  softly  to  the  wearied  one, 

The  aged,  careworn  breast; 
The  old  folks'  work  will  soon  be  done, 

Soothe  then,  their  path  to  rest. 

Speak  softly  in  the  stranger's  ear; 

In  sadness  he  may  roam, 
Perhaps  in  loneliness  and  tears; 

Oh,  make  him  feel  at  home. 

Speak  softly  to  thy  fellow-man; 

His  wrath  'twill  turn  away; 
Make  peace  on  earth  where'er  you  can, 

For  short  may  be  your  stay. 

Speak  softly  to  the  troubled  mind; 

Bind  up  the  broken  heart; 
To  poor  and  needy,  lame  and  blind, 

Act  well  a  neighbor's  part. 

Speak  softly ;  'tis  a  rugged  road, 

At  best  we  travel  in; 
Kindness  lightens  many  a  load, 

And  cannot  yield  a  pain. 

Speak  softly;  'tis  an  easy  thing, 

'Twill  never  cost  a  tear; 
For  happiness  kind  words  will  bring, 

And  help  to  soothe  our  care. 


4'UiriVEESITY 


18  RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 

Then  let  us  kindly  speak  and  smile 
While  here  on  earth  we  rove; 

Twill  give  us  in  this  world  of  toil 
A  taste  of  Heaven  above. 


BE  YE   ALSO  READY. 

Matthew  24:44. 

OH,  be  ready  for  death,  for  you  know  not  the  day 

The  messenger  angel  may  come ! 
Oh,  be  ready  for  death,  for  you  know  not  the  way 

You  shall  pass  to  your  final  home! 

He  may  come  at  the  dawn  of  the  morning  light, 

Or  the  heat  of  the  noontide  hour; 
In  the  calmness  of  eve,  or  the  stillness  of  night, 

He  may  enter  your  chamber  door. 

He  may  come  as  you  walk  amid  fragrant  bowers, 

With  music  of  birds  in  your  ear; 
He  may  come  in  the  breeze,  the  plants,  or  the  flowers, 

Or  the  fruit,  delicious  and  rare. 


BE   YE  ALSO  READY.  19 

He  may  come  on  the  hill-top,  or  down  in  the  dell, 

At  the  foot  of  some  lonely  tree, 
With  no  one  to  say  a  last  loving  farewell — 

No  eye  but  the  Master's  to  see. 

He  may  come  to  sweet  home,  and  you  on  your  pillow 

Unconsciously  sleeping  in  peace ; 
He  may  come  when  you're  far  away  on  the  billow 

Mid  the  noise  of  the  raging  seas. 

He  may  come  in  the  fire;  he  may  come  in  the  storm; 

Terrific  the  summons  may  be. 
Or  perhaps  in  slow  fever  consuming  your  form 

You  shall  his  pale  countenance  see. 

He  may  come  in  a  whirlwind,  or  earthquake  shock 

Each  face  white  with  terror  appears; 
He  may  come  in  the  wreck  of  a  ship  on  a  rock, 

And  you  sink  amid  crying  and  tears. 

He  may  come  in  the  crash  of  a  passenger  train, 

Or  fall  from  a  startled  horse. 
An  explosion  of  powder,  or  bursting  of  steam, 

May  leave  you  a  frightful  corpse. 

He  may  come  in  the  streets  of  your  own  native  land, 

As  you  mix  with  the  good  and  brave; 
He  may  come  far  away  on  some  lone,  distant  strand, 

And  you  lie  in  a  stranger's  grave. 


RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 

He  may  come  in  a  draught  from  a  poisoned  cup, 

Or  blow  from  assassin's  knife; 
Or  disease  may  your  reason  so  sadly  break  up 

That  your  own  hand  may  end  your  life. 

He  may  come  in  the  bustle  and  business  of  life, 

To  the  office,  the  desk,  the  store; 
And,  alas !  he  may  come  in  some  sad  scene  of  strife, 

And  kindly  you'll  never  speak  more. 

He  may  come  without  warning,  suffering,  or  pain — 

In  a  second  pulsation  may  cease; 
He  may  come  in  anguish  or  delirium  of  brain, 

Or  tedious,  lingering  disease. 

He  may  come  to  the  church  on  a  bright  Sabbath-day, 

Or  the  week's  sweet  hour  of  prayer; 
He  may  come  to  the  ball-room,  the  opera,  the  play; 

How  would  you  like  to  meet  him  there  ? 

He  may  come  in  a  moment,  a  whisper,  a  breath, 
Who  can  tell  when  the  time  shall  be  ? 

Oh,  then  let  us  be  ready,  dear  reader,  for  death  ! 
He  will  come  to  you  and  to  me. 


THE  HEART. 

"The  heart  knoweth  its  own  bitterness,  and  a   stranger  doth  not  intermeddle  with  its  joy. 
Proverbs  14: 10. 

THE  heart  has  sorrows  of  its  own, 
And  grief  to  other  hearts  unknown, 
Though  oft',  mid  pleasure's  countless  wiles, 
They  hide  beneath  a  face  of  smiles. 

I've  seen  the  young  and  lovely  fair 
The  gayest  of  the  gay  appear, 
But  deepest  anguish  all  the  while 
Lay  underneath  each  dimpled  smile. 

I've  marked  the  noble,  manly  youth, 
Whose  forehead  spoke  of  love  and  truth, 
His  wounded  heart  strive  to  beguile, 
And  cover  sorrows  with  a  smile. 

I've  noticed  too  the  man  of  care 
Try  hard  a  pleasant  look  to  wear; 
Known  woman,  in  domestic  toil, 
Hide  bitter  woe  beneath  a  smile. 


22  RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 

Oh,  envy  not  the  smiling  face  ! 
If  you  each  burning  thought  could  trace, 
The  sweetest  smiles  which  some  employ 
Would  prove  the  mockery  of  joy. 

Smiles  meant  to  hide  a  heart  of  gloom 
Are  like  the  flowers  above  the  tomb; 
Like  beauteous  roses,  budding  fair 
And  blooming  o'er  the  sepulcher. 

The  heart  alone  its  grief  can  tell, 
Nor  can  the  tongue  its  joys  reveal; 
For,  buried  from  the  world  unknown, 
The  heart  hath  treasures  all  its  own. 

To  think  of  those  on  earth  we  love, 
Or  those  who  dwell  in  Heaven  above, 
Of  dear  one's  absent,  friends  departed, 
Will  often  soothe  the  broken-hearted. 

Thoughts  of  the  heart,  how  dear  they  are  ! 
The  unheard  sigh,  the  unseen  tear, 
The  secret  wish,  the  silent  prayer — 
No  stranger  eye  intrudeth  there. 

But  it  is  well  to  wear  a  smile; 
Gloom  will  no  breaking  heart  beguile; 
'Tis  kindly  looks  and  words  of  love 
That  can  to  woe  a  solace  prove. 


THE  PEACE  OF  JESUS.  23 

The  worldling  in  his  gayest  hours 
Hides  bitterness  beneath  the  flowers; 
The  Christian  in  his  darkest  night 
Hath  joys  which  make  his  pathway  light. 

The  heart  hath  sorrows  of  its  own, 
And  joys  to  other  hearts  unknown; 
But  One  alone  can  it  unseal, 
And  He  the  broken  heart  will  heal. 


THE  PEACE  OF  JESUS. 

Peace  I  leave  with  you,  my  peace  I  give  unto  you."     John  14:  27. 

THE  peace  of  Jesus,  pledge  of  love, 

To  weary  pilgrims  given, 
Sweet  foretaste  of  the  rest  above, 

Rest  of  saints  in  Heaven  ! 

The  peace  of  Jesus,  oh,  how  high 

It  makes  the  spirit  soar, 
And  all  the  storms  of  earth  defy, 

Though  loud  the  tempest  roar ! 


24  RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 

The  peace  of  Jesus,  oh,  how  deep, 
No  tongue  or  pen  can  tell  ! 

When  o'er  the  soul  the  billows  sweep, 
It  still  can  say,  All's  well. 

The  peace  of  Jesus,  oh,  how  strong, 
T^he  weak  frame  to  sustain; 

Smooth  the  rough  path  we  walk  along, 
And  take  away  each  pain  ! 

The  peace  of  Jesus,  oh,  how  kind  ! 

It  lightens  every  care; 
The  broken  spirit  it  doth  bind, 

And  wipe  the  mourner's  tear. 

The  peace  of  Jesus,  oh,  how  calm 
The  heart  that  knows  its  power ! 

For  every  wound  it  has  a  balm, 
And  cheers  each  lonely  hour. 

The  peace  of  Jesus,  oh,  how  still 
When  all  the  world  is  noise ! 

No  thief  the  precious  gem  can  steal; 
No  foe  disturb  its  joys. 

The  peace  of  Jesus,  oh,  how  pure  ! 

No  shade  of  ruffled  breath- 
Gentle,  serene,  and  firm,  and  sure, 

And  faithful  unto  death. 


THE  BETTER  LAND.  25 

The  peace  of  Jesus,  oh,  how  sweet 

Down  in  the  heart's  deep  core  ! 
Dear  Saviour,  give  me  this  complete, 

I'll  want  for  nothing  more  ! 

The  peace  of  Jesus,  joy  sublime  ! 

If  this  dwell  in  my  breast, 
'Twill  bear  me  o'er  the  seas  of  time 

To  my  eternal  rest. 


THE  BETTER  LAND. 

"  I  would  not  live  alway. "     Job  7:  16. 

I  WOULD  not  live  alway 

Where  grief  rends  the  heart, 

Where  fond  hopes  fly  away, 
And  comforts  depart. 

I  would  not  live  alway 

Where  care  casts  us  down, 

Where  friends  smile  to-day, 
And  to-morrow  will  frown. 


26  RELIGIO  US  POE  MS. 

I  would  not  live  alway 
Where  tears  dim  the  eye, 

Where  health  will  decay, 
And  loved  ones  must  die. 

There's  a  land  of  pure  love 

.  Where  all  sorrow  shall  cease; 
There  are  mansions  above, 
And  a  sweet  home  of  peace. 

There's  the  beautiful  city 
With  streets  of  pure  gold; 

There's  rest  for  the  weary 
In  its  glittering  fold. 

There's  the  beautiful  river 
With  bright  silver  spray, 

Making  glad  forever 
The  fair  realms  of  day. 

There's  the  beautiful  flowers 
That  perennial  bloom 

In  the  fragrant  bowers 

Of  the  saints'  happy  home. 

There  are  beautiful  crowns 
Set  with  diamonds  bright, 

And  there's  emerald  thrones 
For  the  robed  in  white. 


THE  BETTER  LAND,  27 

There's  the  beautiful  lion, 

Still  more  beautiful  lamb — 
He  who  brought  us  to  Zion, 

The  Redeemer  his  name. 

There's  the  beautiful  throne 

With  its  rainbow  of  gems, 
And  there  sits  on  it  One 

Who  is  brighter  than  them. 

'Tis  our  Heavenly  Father, 

Our  Judge  reconciled, 
And  around  him  shall  gather 

Each  dearly  loved  child. 

There's  the  loved  and  the  lost 

Of  the  long,  long  ago — 
Oh,  the  tears  that  it  cost 

To  lay  them  down  low  ! 

There's  the  dear  little  friend 

Of  our  childhood  hours, 
Who  away  from  us  went 

As  we  ran  in  the  flowers. 

There's  the  loved  of  our  youth, 

The  young  heart's  dearest  gem. 
Oh,  the  beautiful  truth, 

We  shall  see  them  again  ! 


28  RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 

There's  our  dear  little  buds, 
And  sweet  blossoms  so  fair; 

And  we've  early  ripe  fruits 
Fondly  clustering  there. 

There's  companions  in  toil, 
Gone  away  from  our  side, 

Who  have  left  us  awhile 
Upon  life's  stormy  tide. 

In  that  multitude  throng 
Sainted  mothers  appear. 

Hark  !    that  beautiful  song  ! 
Don't  you  wish  you  were  there 

To  join  in  the  chorus 

Of  the  soul-thrilling  strain, 

Hallelujah  to  Jesus  ! 

Praise  the  Lamb  that  was  slain  1 

I  would  not  stay  below 
If  my  choice  were  given. 

No  !   my  soul  pants  to  know 
The  sweet  rest  of  Heaven. 


THE  TREE  OF   LIFE. 

Revelation  22:  2. 

THE  tree  of  life  stands  in  the  city  of  God; 

Twelve  manner  of  fruits  it  doth  bear; 
Its  evergreen  leaves,  when  scattered  abroad, 

For  healing  the  nations  appear. 

Redeemed  ones  feast  on  that  wonderful  tree, 

And  dwell  in  its  shade  over  there; 
But  it  yieldeth  its  fruit  for  you  and  for  me 

Each  month  of  our  pilgrimage  year. 

There  is  fruit  for  the  month  of  repentance, 
When  with  tears  the  eyes  overflow; 

And  there's  fruit  for  the  month  of  acceptance, 
When  pardon  the  spirit  doth  know. 

There  is  fruit  for  the  month  of  temptation, 
When  faith  bids  the  tempter  to  cease; 

And  there's  fruit  for  the  month  of  salvation- 
Constant  trust,  which  bringeth  forth  peace. 

There  is  fruit  for  the  months  of  trouble  and  grief, 

Months  of  conflict,  trial,  and  care, 
When  the  joy  of  the  Lord  giveth  glad  relief, 

And  strength  every  burden  to  bear. 


30  RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 

Fruit  for  the  months  of  affliction  and  sorrow. 

Yes;  there's  comfort  for  every  breath. 
Each  sweet  promise  tells  of  a  brighter  morrow — 

Blessed  rest,  in  the  month  of  death. 

Oh,  those  fruits  for  the  soul,  of  pardon,  and  peace, 

Faith,  hope,  and  a  sanctified  love, 
Courage,  patience,  trust,  joy,  rest,  comfort,  and  bliss 

From  that  beautiful  tree  up  above  ! 

The  yield  of  this  glorious  tree  cannot  fail; 

No  worm  ever  gnaws  at  its  root; 
No  blighting  storms  over  that  land  can  prevail, 

To  wither  its  life-giving  fruit. 

Oh,  wonderful  tree  in  the  city  of  love  ! 

Whenever  I'm  weary,  distrest, 
My  soul  takes  its  wing,  and  flies  up  above, 

Beneath  its  wide  branches  to  rest. 

I  gaze  on  its  beauty;  I  eat  of  its  fruit; 

And  in  its  rich  foliage  I  see, 
Clustering  together,  a  little  white  group, 

Who  are  waiting  up  there  for  me. 

Dear  Saviour,  whenever  the  time  shall  come 

Thou  sendest  a  message  for  me, 
Oh,  give  me  to  rest  in  a  sweet,  sweet  home, 

Just  under  that  beautiful  tree ! 


MY  TIMES  ARE  IN  THY  HAND. 

"  My  times  are  in  thy  hand."     Psalms.  31  :i5- 

AH,  yes;  my  times  are  in  thy  hand; 

What  if  it  were  not  so? 
Could  I  my  path  through  life  command, 

I  wonder  where  I'd  go. 

What  if  the  task  were  given  to  me 

My  own  fate  to  indite, 
To  rule  and  shape  my  destiny; 

I  wonder  what  I'd  write. 

Would  I  possess  unbounded  wealth 

And  own  a  large  estate? 
Enjoy  uninterrupted  health? 

Rank  with  the  wise  and  great  ? 

Or  would  I  have  a  sweet,  sweet  home, 

Peaceful  as  Eden's  bowers, 
Where  withering  storms  could  never  come 

To  blight  my  cherished  flo'v  -•:  ? 


32  RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 

I  wonder  if  I'd  put  down  cares, 
And  aught  of  sorrow  know; 

Or,  would  I  leave  out  toil  and  tears, 
With  every  shade  of  woe  ? 

I  wonder  what  I'd  say  of  death— 
Where,  when,  and  at  what  age 

Would  I  resign  this  fleeting  breath? 
Ah !  what  about  that  page  ? 

Oh,  'twere  a  task  too  deep,  too  high 
For  such  an  arm  as  mine! 

To  rule  one  human  destiny 
The  hand  must  be  divine. 

Ah,  yes;  my  times  arre  in  His  hand. 

Amen  !  so  let  it  be. 
My  home  is  in  the  better  land, 

To  that  He  leadeth  me. 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  LAND. 

How  I  love  sometimes  up  the  mountain  to  climb, 
And  ascend  from  this  valley  of  tears, 

A  moment  to  gaze  on  the  beautiful  clime 
Where  my  soul  shall  be  free  from  its  cares  ! 

I  stand  on  the  top  of  the  evergreen  hills 

That  o'erlook  the  celestial  bowers; 
I  sit  down  by  the  side  of  the  gentle  rills 

That  water  the  beautiful  flowers. 

I  watch  the  bright  seraphim  shade  with  his  wing 
His  shining  face,  as  he  nears  the  throne; 

I  hear  the  sweet  songs  angel  choristers  sing 
Of  glory,  glory  to  God  alone. 

But  far  sweeter  to  me  are  the  strains  that  rise 
From  the  ransomed,  the  glorified  throng, 

Whose  millions  of  voices  re-echo  the  skies 
With  the  swell  of  their  beautiful  song. 

'Mid  the  white  groups  I  see  on  each  golden  steep, 

Are  the  loved  of  the  long,  long  ago, 
And  the  dear  little  darlings  I've  laid  down  to  sleep 

'Neath  the  clods  of  the  valley  below. 


34  RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 

But  there's  One  above  all  on  whom  my  glad  eye 

In  fond  rapture  forever  could  gaze, 
Great  center  of  every  attraction  on  high, 

The  one  glorious  object  of  praise. 

Jesus,  the  Master!  his  presence  makes  Heaven; 

Tis  his  love  is  the  key  to  their  bliss; 
He  washed  their  robes  white;  their  sins  he's  forgiven, 

And  prepared  them  a  mansion  of  peace. 

His  beautiful  smile  there's  no  pencil  can  paint; 

Its  radiance  transcends  mortal  skill; 
The  most  brilliant  touch  of  the  artist  is  faint, 

And  the  poet's  pen  too  must  be  still. 

I  cannot  stay  long  to  behold  that  abode, 

For  the  duties  of  life  will  be  prest; 
But  I  run  up  the  hill  by  the  side  of  the  road, 

Just  to  look  at  my  beautiful  rest. 

'Tis  a  soul-thrilling  sight,  that  land  of  delight; 

As  I  gaze,  down  my  cheek  rolls  a  tear; 
Then  I  hear  a  sweet  whisper:  Fight  the  good  fight , 

And  you  too — by  and  by — shall  be  there. 

So  I  come  down  again  to  this  region  of  strife, 

For  a  little  while  longer  to  roam. 
When  I've  done  with  the  toil  and  turmoil  of  life, 

I  shall  go  to  my  beautiful  home. 


THOUGHTS  ON   DEATH. 

I'D  like  to  die  at  close  of  day, 

When  all  the  world  is  still, 
Just  as  the  setting  sun's  last  ray 

Goes  down  behind  the  hill. 

I'd  like  to  die  at  evening  hour, 
When  nature's  hushed  to  rest, 

When  tired  insects  seek  their  bower, 
And  weary  birds  their  nest. 

I'd  like  at  even-tide  to  stand 
Close  to  the  Jordan's  stream, 

And  cross  to  Canaan's  happy  land, 
By  moonlight's  silvery  beam. 

I'd  like  to  die  in  sweetest  peace 

With  all  on  earth  below, 
That  not  one  thought  may  mar  my  bliss 

In  the  Heav'n,  to  which  I  go. 

I'd  like  to  know  my  work  was  done 
Ere  the  last  hour  draws  nigh; 

I'd  like  to  have,  when  death  shall  come, 
Nothing  to  do  but  die. 


''O*  TH* 

TjHIVBESITY) 


36  RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 

I'd  like  no  crowd  around  my  bed, 

No  whispers  in  my  ear, 
But  one  lov'd  hand  to  raise  my  head, 

Or  wipe  the  latest  tear. 

I'd  like  my  friends  aside  to.  pray, 

Silent,  with  hearts  sincere, 
That  while  in  death's  dark  vale  I  stay 

No  evil  I  might  fear. 

I'd  like  to  die  in  lively  faith, 

Trusting  in  Jesus'  blood, 
That  blood  which  takes  the  sting  from  death, 

And  reconciles  to  God. 

I'd  like  to  have  my  vision  clear, 

My  hope  serene  and  bright, 
To  see  the  promised  land  appear, 

The  haven,  full  in  sight 

Ah,  yes;  thus  I  would  like  to  die! 

But,  if  it  may  not  be, 
If  o'er  my  head  the  waves  run  high. 

And  darkness  trouble  me, 

Dear  Saviour,  while  the  billows  roll. 

And  angry  tempests  roar, 
Do  thou  but  meet  my  fainting  soul; 

I  will  not  ask  for  more. 


THE  HE  A  VENL  Y  INHERITANCE.  37 

If  peacefully  I  shall  not  die, 

Nor  glimpse  of  glory  see, 
Oh,  let  me  know  that  thou  art  by! 

The  rest  I'll  leave  to  thee. 


THE  HEAVENLY  INHERITANCE. 

THERE'S  a  beautiful  land  in  the  realms  of  bliss, 
Far  from  all  the  toil  and  the  troubles  of  this; 
The  fields  are  all  green,  and  the  trees  ever  bloom; 
The  flowers  never  fade,  nor  lose  their  perfume. 
There's  a  sweet,  sweet  home  in  that  far-off  land, 
Where  there's  naught  to  divide  the  family  band, 
Where  sorrow  and  sighing  forever  shall  flee — 
That  beautiful  home,  faithful  Christian's  for  thee. 

There's  a  beautiful  robe  made  of  spotless  white — 
'Tis  an  every-day  dress  in  that  land  of  light; 
There's  a  palm  of  victory,  a  harp  of  gold, 
And  a  song  of  love  that  can  never  be  told; 
There's  a  seat  on  the  throne,  and  bright  starry  crown 
For  him  who  the  name  of  conqueror  shall  own. 
Rest  for  the  weary,  ah,  how  sweet  it  will  be! 
That  beautiful  rest,  faithful  Christian's  for  thee. 


38  RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 

How  many  there  are  who  their  Saviour  confess ! 
Very  loudly  they  talk  and  sing  of  his  grace, 
But  they  walk  so  unsteady,  stumble  and  fall, 
They'll  be  but  just  saved — if  they're  saved  at  all. 
Some  will  tell  us  they  love  at  all  times  to  pray — 
Yet  try  from  all  work  to  keep  out  of  the  way. 
They  are  walking  to  Heaven  at  a  slow  peaceful  rate, 
Content  if  they  only  get  in  at  the  gate. 

But  that  will  not  do  for  this  spirit  of  mine. 

No;  I  want  like  a  star  in  glory  to  shine. 

I  must  have  that  home  of  transporting  delight; 

I  must  walk  those  fields  with  my  Saviour,  in  white; 

I  must  move  in  the  midst  of  that  radiant  throng; 

I  want  to  sing  with  them  that  beautiful  song; 

I  must  drink  from  the  fount  in  that  world  of  bliss, 

Whose  streams  have  so  often  refreshed  me  in  this. 

I'll  not  go  alone  to  the  mansion  I  own; 
.     I  must  have  the  dear  ones  now  around  the  hearth-stone; 
I'll  take  loved  friends  below  to  that  place  so  fair; 
I'll  ask  strangers  to  go,  for  they're  welcome  there; 
I  must  have  some  bright  gems  to  put  in  my  crown; 
I  must  try  to  get  near  to  my  Father's  throne. 
Just  inside  the  pearly  gate  won't  do  for  me — 
All  the  fullness  of  joy  my  portion  must  be. 


THE    WHISPERER.  39 

Come  ye,  who  would  shine  in  that  heavenly  land, 
Let  us  up  and  be  doing,  the  night  is  at  hand; 
We  must  work  to-day  in  the  light  of  the  sun, 
We  shall  mourn  if  it  sets  ere  our  task  is  done. 
There  are  souls  to  seek,  or  they'll  languish  and  die; 
There  are  kind  words  to  speak,  and  sad  tears  to  dry; 
Lead  sinners  to  Jesus,  oh,  labor  of  love! 
How  'twill  sweeten  the  rest  that  awaits  us  above! 


THE  WHISPERER. 

"A  whisperer  separateth  chief  friends."     Proverbs  16:28. 

TRUE,  O  king,  it  is  true,  it  was  true  in  thy  time, 
Has  been  so  in  all  ages,  and  in  every  clime, 
All  ranks  and  conditions,  men  of  .every  station, 
High  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  throughout  every  nation, 
Illiterate  and  wise,  the  rude,  gentle,  and  wild, 
From  the  gray-headed  sage  to  the  dear  little  child, — 
All  have  learned  in  the  school  of  experience  to  prove 
That  a  whisperer  cutteth  the  silk  cords  of  love. 

In  the  palace  of  monarchs,  the  homes  of  the  great, 
The  chambers  of  commerce,  and  the  councils  of  State, 
At  the  party,  the  concert,  the  ball-room,  he's  found, 
But  he  is  not  confined  to  unhallowed  ground. 


40  RELIGIOUS   POEMS. 

He's  in  church  among  those  most  devout  who  appear, 
And  is  often  the  first  at  the  meetings  for  prayer. 
And  estrangement  and  strife  and  disunion  prove 
That  a  whisperer  cutteth  the  sweet  bands  of  love. 

Oft  the  whisperer  weareth  a  smooth  face  of  smiles  — 
Beware!  they  are  only  the  false  hypocrite's  wiles. 
Like  the  spider  he  weaveth  a  flattering  spell, 
Winding  up  with  a  promise  that  you  will  not  tell. 
Oh,  promise  it  not,  but  the  slanderer  disown! 
That  must  surely  be  wrong  he's  afraid  to  have  known. 
Alas,  sad  wounded  spirits  and  broken  hearts  prove 
That  a  whisperer  cutteth  the  soft  cords  of  love! 

Yes;   the  whisperer  has  broken  many  a  heart. 
He  has  parted  the  friends  that  no  tempest  could  part; 
Lent  a  withering  blight  o'er  life's  fairest  flowers; 
Turned  the  brightest  of  sunshine  to  midnight  hours. 
There's  a  venomous  shaft  in  his  poisoned  breath 
That  can  make  a  sweet  home  a  dark  mansion  of  death 
Oh,   there's  millions  of  hearts  in  this  wide  world  can  pro\ 
That  a  whisperer  cutteth  the  sweet  bands  of  love ! 

Ah,  don't  be  a  whisperer,  my  lively  young  friend, 
If  you'd  have  peace  and  joy  all  your  pathway  attend! 
But  think  kindly,  speak  kindly,  where'er  you  may  roan 
And  your  name  shall  be  sweet  when  you've  gone  to  you 
home. 


DEAD  FLIES.  41 

Raise  the  sad,  drooping  head,  wipe  the  tears  as  they  fall; 
Have  a  warm,  friendly  hand  and  a  good  word  for  all; 
Turn  a  deaf  ear  to  slander;    deceit  disapprove; 
For  a  whisperer  cutteth  the  silk  cords  of  love. 

But  pity  the  whisperer  all  ye  people  who  can, 
Despised  as  he  is  both  by  God  and  by  man, 
By  himself  when  he  stops  to  consider  his  ways; 
Then  remorse  makes  unhappy  the  rest  of  his  days. 
The  words  he  hath  spoken  he  would  gladly  recall, 
For  he  feels  like  an  object  avoided  by  all. 
Oh,  'tis  soothing  to  know  that  the   Scriptures  can  prove 
There's  no  whisperer  found  in  the  Heaven  above! 


DEAD  FLIES. 

Dead  flies  cause  the  ointment  of  the  apothecary  to  send  forth  a  stinking  savor;  so  doth  a 
little  folly  him  that  is  in  reputation  for  wisdom  and  honor."     Ecclesiastes  10 :  i. 

DEAD  flies  in  ointment  maketh  it  foul, 
So  folly  in  wise  men  soileth  the  soul. 
Dirt  spots  on  a  dingy  old  coat  don't  show, 
On  new,  superfine,  their  presence  you'll  know. 


42  RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 

The  man  who  has  gained  position  and  wealth 
By  honest  toil  and  the  blessing  of  health, 
But  forgets  the  friends  who  helped  him  when  poor, 
Has  flies  in  his  ointment  you  may  be  sure. 

The  man  who  puts  on  religion  on  Sundays, 
But  business  lies  tells  freely  on  Mondays, 
Runs  deeply  in  debt,  is  not  true  to  his  word — 
The  dead  flies  in  his  ointment  displease  the  Lord. 

The  man  who  boasts  his  charities  world  wide, 
But  can  pass  a  poor  man,  faint  by  his  side; 
All  smiles  in  public,  at  home  cross,  unkind- 
Dead  flies  in  his  ointment  very  worst  kind. 

The  man  who  in  meeting  talks  long  and  loud 
Of  his  own  good  deeds,  to  the  silent  crowd, 
Points  out  others'  faults,  thanks  God  he's  not  so — 
Dead  flies  in  Pharisee's  ointment,  you  know. 

The  man  who  has  always  some  secret  to  tell 
He's  heard  about  others  who  don't  behave  well, 
Goes  from  house  to  house,  dealing  slander  and  news — 
Dead  flies  in  the  ointment  that  whisperers  use. 

The  man  of  good  name  and  fair  reputation, 
Who  thinks  there's  no  harm  in  a  little  flirtation, 
Twines  round  a  young  heart,  then  the  cords  coolly  sever; 
Dead  flies  in  his  ointment;  they'll  stain  him  forever. 


DEAD  FLIES.  43 

The  man  who  talks  of  sanctification, 
But  lives  for  selfish  gratification, 
Is  grasping  for  wealth,  stoops  to  anything  mean- 
Dead  flies  in  his  ointment;  his  hands  are  not  clean. 

The  pastor  who  cares  for  the  rich  and  well-drest, 
But  neglects  the  poor,  the  sick,  the  distrest, 
May  preach  like  a  Paul,  like  an  angel  may  sing- 
Dead  flies  in  the  ointment;  like  brass  it  will  ring 

But,  alas!     I  confess  with  sorrow,  I  own, 
That  gentlemen  use  not  this  ointment  alone; 
There  are  beautiful  ladies,  gentle  and  wise,  ' 
Whose  sweetest  perfumes  are  full  of  dead  flies — 

Anger,  jealousy,  malice,  vanity,  pride, 
Idle  gossip  and  slander,  with  a  host  beside. 
On  a  pure  white  dress  spots  will  plainest  appear. 
Ah!  these  dead  flies  cause  many  a  bitter  tear. 

Who  can  count  their  names?     Alas!  they  are  legion. 
They  spoil  our  good  sense,  disgrace  our  religion. 
Oh,  who  does  not  long  for  that  beautiful  shore 
Where  folly  and  flies  shall  annoy  us  no  more ! 


THE  HIGHER  LIFE. 

'The  secret  of  the  Lord  is  with  them  that  fear  him."     Psalms  25  :,i4. 

THE  Christian  has  a  higher  life, 
Tis  hid  with  Christ  in  God; 

He's  passing  through  a  world  of  strife, 
But  lives  above  the  road. 

He  knows  the  secret  of  the  Lord, 

That  secret,  oh,  how  dear! 
There's  naught  on  earth  that  can  afford 

Such  bliss  the  soul  to  cheer. 

He  talks  with  Jesus  at  the  ray 
Of  morn's  first  dawning  light; 

He  walks  with  Jesus  all  the  day, 
And  rests  with  him  at  night. 

He  lives  in  Heaven  all  the  while; 

He  has  a  mansion  fair; 
And,  though  mid  earthly  care  and  toil, 

He  lays  up  treasure  there. 


THE  HIGHER  LIFE.  45 

The  spirit  doth' his  grace  impart, 

And  holy  fire  reveal; 
And  Jesus  on  his  inmost  heart 

Does  his  own  image  seal. 

He'll  never  say  in  accents  vain, 

I   holier  am  than  thou; 
But  holiness  in  letters  plain 

Is  written  on  his  brow. 

While  he  enjoys  the  rest  of  faith, 

His  heart  and  hands  are  clean; 
No  word  impure  will  soil  his  breath, 

And  he'll  do  nothing  mean. 

In  all  his  dealings  he'll  be  just, 

The  path  of  right  pursue. 
Faithful  he'll  prove  to  every  trust, 

And  what  he  says  will  do. 

He'll  live  for  God,  where'er  he  roves, 

And  make  his  mercy  known; 
Tell  sinners  of  a  Saviour's  love, 

And  lead  the  wanderer  home. 

He'll  kindly  raise  the  drooping  head 

That  in  his  path  may  lie. 
And  gently  smooth  the  dying  bed— 

The  mourner's  tear-drops  dry. 


46  RELIGIOUS  POEMS.  . 

He'll  scatter  round  a  cheerful  beam 
Where  gloomy  weeds  have  grown, 

And  take  to  Heaven  many  a  gem 
To  deck  the  Saviour's  crown. 

The  world  may  look  with  cold  disdain 

Upon  his  upright  walk; 
Slanderers  try  his  name  to  stain— 

He'll  overcome  the  talk. 

The  thunder  o'er  his  head  may  roll, 

The  vivid  lightning  flash; 
The  earth  may  shake  from  pole  to  pole — 

He'll  calmly  stand  the  crash. 

When  clouds  of  sorrow  shade  his  sky, 
And  grief  his  soul  has  crash'd, 

He  thinks  of  his  sweet  home  on  high, 
And  every  sigh  is  hush'd. 

And  when  for  him  the  angels  wait, 

His  work  will  all  be  done; 
They'll  bear  him  through  the  pearly  gate, 

Up  to  his  Father's  throne. 

He'll  have  the  name  within  the  stone; 

And  spotless  robe  so  fair; 
He'll  have  the  palm,  the  harp,  the  crown, 

And  dwell  forever  there. 


THE  SECRET  PLACE. 

He  that  dwelleth  in  the  secret  place   of  the  Most  High  shall  abide  under  the  shadow  of 
the  Almighty."     Psalms  91 :  i. 

THE  secret  place,  Oh,  sacred  spot! 
My  arbor,  where  the  world  comes  not; 
My  soul's  sweet  rest,  full  and  complete; 
The  garden  where  my  God  I  meet. 
Whene'er  bowed  down  with  grief  and  care, 
I  hide  in  his  pavilion  there. 

The  secret  place,  no  stranger  ear 
Can  listen  to  my  humble  prayer; 
The  secret  place,  no  eye  can  see 
My  God  descend  and  talk  with  me. 
Dear  Father,  to  this  spot  I  cling, 
Under  the  shadow  of  thy  wing. 

The  secret  place  of  the  Most  High, 
No  envious  feet  are  passing  by. 
Turmoil  and  strife  may  rage  around, 
They  cannot  touch  my  hallowed  ground. 
Father,  I'll  come,  whate'er  betide, 
In  this  dear  spot  my  soul  to  hide. 


48  RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 

The  secret  place,  so  pure,  so  bright,' 
Here  I  gain  strength  to  meet  the  fight; 
Tempest  may  rise  and  storms  may  come, 
They  only  drive  me  nearer  home. 
My  Father,  to  this  spot  I  cling, 
Under  the  shadow  of  thy  wing. 

The  secret  place,  Oh,  blessed  spot ! 
My  sheltering  rock,  my  mountain-top, 
From  whence  I  view  the  streets  of  gold, 
And  catch  a  glimpse  of  bliss  untold; 
My  Beulah  Land  on  which  I  stand, 
Hid  in  the  hollow  of  His  hand. 

The  secret  place,  here  I  must  dwell; 
With  love  and  joy  my  heart  doth  swell. 
Here  let  my  latest  sun  go  down, 
'Neath  golden  light  from  off  thy  throne. 
Dear  Father,  still  just  here  I'll  cling, 
Under  the  shadow  of  thy  wing. 


GOLDEN   APPLES. 

"A  word  fitly  spoken  is  like  apples  of  gold  in  pictures  of  silver."     Proverbs  25:11. 

TENDER  words  spoken 

To  hearts  that  are  broken 
Are  surely  the  words  the  wise  man  hath  named; 

Their  worth  is  untold. 

They  are  apples  of  gold— 

Those  who  speak  them  are  pictures  in  which  they're 
framed. 

Speak  lovingly  then 

To  the  children  of  men. 
Ah!   why  should  life's  pathway  be  shaded  with  gloom? 

Husbands,  speak  tenderly, 

Wives,  ever  so  gently, 
Keep  apples  of  gold  framed  in  silver  at  home. 

And,  mother,  speak  mild 

To  the  dear  little  child,      . 
For  it  may  not  with  you  have  long  to  remain. 

Keep  love  in  the  fold, 

Tis  an  apple  of  gold, 
And  you  are  the  silver  in  which  it  is  framed. 


50  RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 

Speak  kind  to  the  young, 

For  it  will  not  be  long 
Ere,  out  in  the  world,  by  rough  words  they'll  be  pained. 

Tell  love's  story  old ; 

Give  them  apples  of  gold ; 

They'll    love  the   bright  pictures   in  which  they    are 
framed. 

Softly  speak  to  the  lost, 

On  sin's  tempest  tossed, 
And  lift  up  the  fallen,  no  matter  how  low. 

Better  than  money 

And  sweeter  than  honey 
Are  apples  of  gold  framed  in  silver  aglow. 

Soothe  the  wounded  heart, 

It  will  best  heal  the  smart. 
Speak  sweet  words  of  love  to  cheer  life's  saddest  hours; 

'Twill  comfort  the  weary, 

Brighten  the  dreary— 
They  are  apples  of  gold  set  in  silver  flowers. 

Bring  wanderers  home, 
•  That  in  sorrow  now  roam. 
Kind  words  fitly  spoken,  the  wise  man  hath  well  named. 

Their  worth  can't  be  told, 

They  are  apples  of. gold, 
And  you  are  the  pictures  in  which  they  are  framed. 


THE  WORLD. 

THE  young  heart  views  the  world  an  enchanting  scene, 

With  fairy  lights  all  of  a  glow; 
Thinks  all  is  sweet  peace  that  is  looking  serene, 

And  gold  that  is  glittering  so. 

They  build  beautiful  castles  high  in  the  air, 

And  furnish  with  pleasure  and  joy, 
Never  thinking  the  skies  are  not  always  fair, 

Or  that  winds  their  house  may  destroy. 

They  lay  their  bright  plans  for  a  future  career, 

Launch  ships  on  a  fanciful  sea, 
And  stay  not  to  think  that  a  tempest  is  near, 

And  their  vessel  a  wreck  might  be. 

But  we  cannot  sail  long  on  a  calm  still  tide 

Ere  a  storm  most  surely  appears — 
At  first  overwhelm'd  is  the  heart's  early  pride; 

Ah,  how  warm  are  our  youthful  tears  ! 

Our  riches  take  wing,  and  away  goes  our  wealth, 

And  poverty  comes  with  its  woe; 
Or  diseases  appear,  and  we  lose  our  health, 

And  then  pain  and  sorrow  we  know. 


52  RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 

There  are  darling  children  to  suffer  and  die, 

While  parents  in  agony  weep, 
And  dearly  beloved  ones  to  whisper  good-bye. 

And  part  perhaps  never  to  meet. 

Death  will  come  to  our  home  and  take  from  our  eyes 

Dearest  objects  of  fond  delight; 
Joy  is  but  a  phantom — we  chase  it,  it  flies— 

And  the  world's  like  a  winter's  night. 

Oh,  what  could  we  do  were  we  left  in  the  dark 

With  no  hope  of  a  future  home  ? 
A  sad  picture  of  gloom,  without  one  bright  spark 

To  light  up  beyond  the  cold  tomb. 

But  thanks  be  to  God,  who  gave  revelation, 

Blessed  book  to  brighten  our  path. 
Hallelujah  to  Jesus  !  who  brought  us  salvation, 

Safe  now  is  the  valley  of  death. 

Oh,  then  lay  up  stores  in  that  beautiful  home, 
Where  naught  our  treasure  can  sever; 

Where  care,  disappointment,  and  sorrows  ne'er  come, 
But  joy  forever  and  ever. 


THE  TREE  OF  METHODISM. 

CENTENARY    HYMN. 

OH,  rally  round  the  good  old  tree, 
Planted  by  Wesley's  hand; 

And  let  its  lofty  branches  be 
The  glory  of  the  land. 

He  placed  it  in  the  fair  new  soil, 
And  wet  it  with  his  tears; 

To-day  we  hail  it  with  a  smile- 
Growth  of  a  hundred  years. 

Then  rally  round  the  tree,  friends, 
The  broad,  the  noble  tree. 
Large  let  your  offerings  be,  friends,. 
On  this  glad  jubilee. 

Think  of  the  pious,  earnest  few, 

Who  watched  its  early  growth; 
Labor,  fatigue,  and  care  they  knew, 

But  faithful  were  to  truth. 
Oh,  for  their  consecrated  will, 

Their  energetic  fire, 
Their  pure  and  holy  fervent  zeal, 

Our  own  hearts  to  inspire! 

Then  rally  round  the  tree,  etc. 


54  RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 

What  millions  now  arrayed 

In  robes  of  spotless  white, 
First  met  with  Jesus  'neath  its  shade 

In  sorrow's  weary  night ! 
He  knows  them  all,  each  one  by  name, 

With  every  state  and  place, 
Each  spot  of  earth  from  whence  they  came, 

To  rest  in  his  embrace. 

Then  rally  round  the  tree,  etc. 

Our  Father,  we  will  bless  thy  name, 

For  this  our  glorious  tree. 
Oh,  help  us,  Lord,  to  spread  thy  fame 

O'er  every  land  and  sea! 
Oh,  send  us  heavenly  showers, 

Spirit  of  burning  love, 
Come  with  thy  reviving  powers, 

And  raise  our  hearts  above. 

Then  rally  round  the  tree,  etc. 

Clear  as  the  sun,  with  radiance  bright, 

Our  tree  shall  ever  bloom, 
Fair  as  the  moon,  whose  silver  light 

Shines  o'er  the  midnight  gloom; 


TREE  OF  METHODISM.  55 

Like  one  grand  army  drawn  in  line, 

All  terrible  to  foes; 
So  shall  our  starry  banner  shine, 

Whatever  may  oppose. 

Then  rally  round  the  tree,  etc. 

Oh,  yes;  we'll  gather  round  the  tree, 

Beneath  its  branches  come. 
Before  the  next  grand  jubilee 

We  shall  have  reached  our  home; 
We  shall  with  our  Redeemer  be; 

He'll  wipe  off  every  tear; 
But  there  we'll  not  forget  the  tree 

That  gave  us  shelter  here. 

Then  rally  round  the  tree,  etc. 

All  honor  to  the  faithful  few 

Who  first  did  till  the  land; 
And  broadcast  o'er  Columbia  threw 

The  seed,  with  steady  hand. 
When  earth  and  time  have  passed  away, 

Rich  glory  they  shall  share; 
A  brilliant  crown  with  dazzling  ray, 

Each  on  his  brow  shall  wear. 

Then  rally  round  the  tree,  etc. 


•~>6  RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 

And  when  we  all  arrive  at  home, 

Oh,  what  a  shout  we'll  raise! 
We'll  shake  the  high  celestial  dome 

With  our  loud  songs  of  praise; 
On  Wesley's  head  we'll  put  a  crown, 

Where  million  gems  shall  meet; 
And  then  we'll  help  him  take  it  down 

To  lay  at  Jesus'  feet. 

Then  rally  round  the  tree,  friends, 
The  broad,  the  noble  tree. 
Large  let  your  offerings  be,  friends, 
On  this  grand  jubilee. 
San  Francisco,  April  23,  1866. 


FAREWELL  TO  LINCOLN. 

FAREWELL  to  thee,  Lincoln,  true,  honest,  and  brave; 
Thou  nobly  did'st  toil  thy  country  to  save; 
But  thy  mission  is  ended;  thy  work  is  well  done; 
The  battle  is  fought,  and  the  victory  is  won. 
Farewell !  oh,  farewell !  thou  has  left  us  forever, 
But  we'll  never  forget  thee — ah,  never,  no  never ! 

Farewell  to  thee,  Lincoln;  we  grieve  o'er  thy  doom; 
We  could  wish  thou  had'st  died  in  the  bosom  of  home, 
With  loved  ones  to  soothe,  altho'  broken-hearted, 
And  say  one  farewell  as  thy  spirit  departed. 
Farewell !  oh,  farewell !  thou  hast  left  us  forever, 
But  we'll  never  forget  thee — ah,  never,  no  never ! 

Farewell  to  thee,  Lincoln;  we  mourn  thy  decease, 
But  rejoice  thou  did'st  see  the  first  dawning  of  peace; 
Like  Moses,  beheld,  from  the  mount  of  the  blest, 
The  beautiful  land  where  his  people  should  rest. 
Farewell !  oh,  farewell !  thou  hast  left  us  forever, 
But  we'll  never  forget  thee — ah,  never,  no  never  ! 

Farewell  to  thee,  Lincoln;  thy  death  has  but  sealed 
The  new  laws  by  which  the  nation  is  healed. 


58  RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 

The  death  warrant  of  slavery  lies  before  God; 
It  is  wrote  by  thy  pen;  it  is  sealed  with  thy  blood. 
Farewell !  oh,  farewell !  thou  hast  left  us  forever, 
But  we'll  never  forget  thee — ah,  never,  no  never  ! 

Farewell  to  thee,  Lincoln;  Rebellion  is  dead; 

Thou  hast  crush'd  with  thy  foot  the  vile  monster's  head; 

Thou  hast  fought   a  good   fight;  thou  shalt  now  wear  a 

crown, 

And  Columbia  forever  shall  chant  thy  renown. 
Farewell !  oh,  farewell !  thou  hast  left  us  forever, 
But  we'll  never  forget  thee — ah,  never,  no  never ! 

Farewell  to  thee,  Lincoln;  perhaps  it  is  best 

Thou  should'st  pass  from  the  valley  of  conflict  to  rest; 

Thou  hast  finished  the  work  thou  wert  called  to  perform; 

Thou  hast  met  every  foe,  and  braved  every  storm. 

Farewell  !  oh,  farewell !  thou  hast  left  us  forever, 

But  we'll  never  forget  thee — ah,  never,  no  never ! 

Farewell  to  thee,  Lincoln;  how  sweet  is  thy  sleep, 
Tho'  millions  of  eyes  o'er  thy  murder  will  weep  ! 
Thy  name  is  untarnished;  thy  fame  shall  be  sung 
While  the  world  shall  endure,  and  man  has  a  tongue. 
Farewell !  oh,  farewell !  thou  hast  left  us  forever, 
But  we'll  never  forget  thee — ah,  never,  no  never  ! 


FAREWELL  TO  SLAVERY.  59 

Farewell  to  thee,  Lincoln;  may  our  Father  and  God 
Still  watch  o'er  the  land  hallow'd  now  by  thy  blood. 
Oh  yes;  he's  the  God  of  sweet  liberty's  home — 
He's  our  refuge  and   strength,  and  his  kingdom   shall 

come. 

Farewell !  oh,  farewell !  thou  hast  left  us  forever, 
But  we'll  never  forget  thee — ah,  never,  no  never. 
San  Francisco,  April,  1865. 


FAREWELL  TO  SLAVERY. 

FAREWELL  to  thee,  Slavery,  a  hearty  farewell  ! 
There's  no  sorrow  springs  up  at  thy  parting  knell, 
But  loud  shouts  of  joy,  which  shall  rise  to  the  skies, 
And  echo  repeat  the  glad  sound  as  it  flies; 
For  no  more  shall  thy  name  our  bright  banner  stain- 
No,  never;  oh,  never;  no  never  again  ! 

Farewell  to  thee,  Slavery  !    The  sufferer's  moan, 
The  strong  man's  grief,  and  the  old  man's  groan, 
The  poor  mother's  grief,  and  the  little  one's  cry 
Have  pierced  the  ears  of  the  Lord  most  high; 
And  no  more  shall  thy  name  our  bright  banner  stain- 
No,  never;  oh,  never;  no  never  again  ! 


60  RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 

Farewell  to  thee,  Slavery !    Our  dear  ones  have  fell; 
As  we  call  them  to  mind  our  beating  hearts  swell. 
Thou  hast  slain  thy  ten  thousands  with  bitterest  hate, 
But  the  last  of  thy  victims  was  Lincoln  the  great; 
For  no  more  shall  thy  name  our  bright  banner  stain — 
No,  never;  oh,  never;  no  never  again  ! 

Farewell  to  thee,  Slavery  !    A  long  list  of  crime 
Shall  go  with  thee  down  through  the  annals  of  time; 
And  the  people  unborn  shall  read  the  sad  woe, 
Rejoicing  thou'rt  gone  to  the  long,  long  ago. 
Oh,  no  more  shall  thy  name  our  bright  banner  stain- 
No,  never;  oh,  never;  no  never  again  ! 

Farewell  to  thee,  Slavery  !  thou  curse  of  the  land, 
Wiped  out  by  Jehovah's  omnipotent  hand; 
When  he  whets  his  glittering  sword  to  slay, 
Ah,  where  is  the  power  his  arm  can  stay  ? 
Oh,  no  more  shall  thy  name  our  bright  banner  stain- 
No,  never;  oh,  never;  no  never  again  ! 

Farewell  to  thee,  Slavery  !    Tis  a  costly  sum; 

It  has  taken  the  light  from  many  a  home; 

The  heart  of  the  nation  has  bled  to  kill  thee, 

But,  thanks  be  to  God,  all  the  people  are  free ! 

Oh,  no  more  shall  thy  name  our  bright  banner  stain — 

No,  never;  oh,  never;  no  never  again  ! 


FAREWELL  TO  SLAVERY.  61 

Farewell  to  thee,  Slavery  !     It  will  not  be  long 
Ere  the  universe  round  shall  repeat  the  same  song; 
For  the  mighty  of  earth  are  about  to  discover 
That  man  shall  be  man  the  wide  world  all  over. 
Oh,  no  more  shall  thy  name  our  bright  banner  stain- 
No,  never;  oh,  never;  no  never  again ! 

Farewell  to  thee,  Slavery!    How  sweet  on  our  ear 
Will  the  trumpet  of  jubilee  sound  thro'  the  air; 
Oh,  Jesus,  come  quickly;  take  thy  power  and  reign  ! 
Hark  !  his  chariot  wheels  are  approaching  the  plain. 
Oh,  no  more  shall  thy  name  our  bright  banner  stain- 
No,  never;  oh,  never;  no  never  again  ! 

Then  farewell  to  thee,  Slavery,  a  hearty  farewell ! 
There's  no  sorrow  springs  up  at  thy  parting  knell, 
But  loud  shouts  of  joy,  which  shall  rise  to  the  skies, 
And  echo  repeat  the  glad  sound  as  it  flies; 
For  no  more  shall  thy  name  our  bright  banner  stain — 
No,  never;  oh,  never;  no  never  again  ! 


THE  RAINBOW. 

JULY  3,  1865. 

OH,  say,  did  you  see  that  beautiful  bow 

In  the  clouds  of  the  evening  sky? 
'Twas  a  grand  arch  of  triumph,  arose  up  to  show 

That  Heaven  partook  of  our  joy. 

Yes;  that  beautiful  bow,  with  its  radiant  glow, 

Was  a  touch  of  the  Master's  hand; 
And  it  gracefully  rose,  a  smile  to  bestow 

On  the  grateful  joy  of  the  land. 

'Twas  our  Father's  bow,  full  of  promise  and  hope, 

Sweet  sign  of  approval  and  love; 
The  floods  of  deep  waters  have  just  been  dried  up — 

There  is    rest  for  the  weary  dove. 

And  that  brilliant  arch  was  a  glorious  dispatch 

From  the  Ruler  of  earth  and  sky: 
A  new  covenant  to-day  I  make  with  all  flesh 

That  liberty  never  shall  die. 

There  are  storms  yet  to  come,  deep  floods  to  arise, 

And  many  dark  systems  to  fall; 
But  behold !    I  have  set  my  bow  in  the  skies, 

A  pledge  I  will  bring  you  through  all. 


RECITATION.  63 

Our  Father,  we  thank  thee,  with  hearts  lifted  up, 

For  the  joy  thou  hast  given  below; 
And  if  ever  our  spirits  should  falter  or  drop, 

We'll  think  of  that  beautiful  bow. 

That  jubilee  bow  would  have  been  out  of  place, 
In  the  calm  of  the  midsummer  sky, 

If  it  had  not  appeared,  our  triumphs  to  grace, 

On  the  eve  of  the  Fourth  of  July. 
San  Francisco,  July  7,  1865. 


JULY  FOURTH  RECITATION. 

[For  boy  or  girl.] 

ALL  hail  to  the  day  of  our  country's  birth, 
Most  glorious  of  all  the  nations  of  earth; 
Our  goddess  of  freedom  proudly  doth  stand, 
With  a  home  for  oppressed  ones  from  every  land. 

Then  raise  the  banner  high 
O'er  city,  hill,  and  plain; 

The  brightest  flag  beneath  the  sky, 
It  waves  without  a  stain. 


64  RELIGIOUS  POEMS. 

All  hail  to  the  memory  of  the  mighty  men, 
Who  did  the  Declaration  paper  pen; 
Yes,  let  their  names  ring  out  from  shore  to  shore, 
Until  nations  and  time  shall  be  no  more. 

All  hail  to  George  Washington's  glorious  name ! 
All  hail  to  Lincoln,  who  stands  next  in  fame! 
All  hail  to  the  men  who  for  liberty  bled ! 
All  hail  the  memory  of  the  mighty  dead. 

All  hail  to  the  land  where  freedom  doth  rule — 
The  land  of  Bibles,  of  college,  and  school; 
There's  no  dark  spot  on  our  banner  so  fair, 
High  let  it  wave,  fling  it  out  on  the  air. 

All  hail  !  above  all  to  our  Father  in  Heaven, 
Who  to  us  this  beautiful  land  hath  given; 
With  loud  grateful  songs  let  our  voices  now  raise 
Till  the  hills  shall  re-echo  the  notes  of  praise. 

Then  raise  the  banner  high 
O'er  city,  hill,  and  plain; 

The  brightest  flag  beneath  the  sky, 
It  waves  without  a  stain. 


ORANDMA'S    CHRISTMAS, 


OTHKR     PIECES. 


GRANDMA'S  CHRISTMAS. 


IIS  Christmas;  grandma  sits  in  her  easy  chair  by  the 
fireside;  there  is  company  in  the  parlor  and  company  in 
the  nursery;  a  large  Christmas  tree  in  the  sitting-room, 
all  aglow  with  its  variegated  lights,  every  branch  laden  with 
presents  from  Santa  Claus, — presents  for  papa;  presents  for 
mamma;  presents  for  every  child,  even  baby;  presents  too 
for  the  company;  last,  but  not  least,  many  a  gift  of  love  for 
grandma.  She  has  passed  a  very  pleasant  day,  conversed 
cheerfully  with  the  company,  laughed  with  the  children  in 
their  merriment,  listened  to  their  sweet  songs  of  good-will 
and  peace,  and  now  she  has  gone  to  her  own  room  to  keep 
Christmas  quietly  by  herself. 

The  old  live  in  the  past,  and  so  grandma  has  scarcely  sat 
down  ere  she  has  gone  back  to  the  days  of  her  childhood  in 
the  old  home  far,  far  away.  For  aught  she  knows  there  may 
not  be  one  s  tone  left  upon  another  of  that  place  so  dear  to 
her  memory;  but  there  it  is  with  its  large  rooms  and  old- 
fash  ioned  fire-places,  large  fires  too,  for  grandma's  home  was 
in  a  climate  where  frost  and  snow  are  frequent  accompani 
ments  to  Christmas  festivities;  and  there  is  father  and 
mother  busy  looking  after  the  Christmas  provisions, — geese, 


68  CHRISTMAS  AND  OTHER  PIECES. 

turkeys,  or  roast  beef,  and  the  never-to-be-forgotten  plum 
pudding;  and  there  is  brother  Richard,  and  James,  and 
David,  and  Jonathan,  sister  Rachel,  and  Ruth,  and  Nancy, 
and  herself  busily  trimming  up  the  house  with  holly,  every 
corner,  every  window,  every  looking-glass.  How  the  red 
berries  are  dangling  over  every  quaint  old  picture,  every 
ornament  that  stands  on  or  hangs  over  the  broad  mantel 
shelf!  There  too  is  the  mistletoe  bough,  suspended  from 
the  hook  in  the  center  of  the  room — one  chief  source  of 
the  evening's  amusement.  There  was  no  Christmas  tree 
then,  but  presents  were  called  Christmas  boxes,  of  which 
generally  there  was  a  bounteous  supply;  there  were  merry 
games  for  the  children,  the  principal  of  which  was  blind- 
man's-buff,  after  which  they  gathered  around  the  cheerful 
fire,  in  whose  chimney-corner  sat  another  grandma,  whose 
hair  seamed  to  rival  the  snow  in  whiteness;  and  they  sang 
very  heartily  the  carols  of  the  day:  "While  shepherds  watch 
their  flocks  by  night,"  "Hark  the  herald  angels  sing,"  etc.; 
and  the  dear  old  grandmother  tells  them  how  they  used  to 
keep  Christmas  in  her  childhood,  and  tries  to  sing  to  them 
one  of  the  curious  carols  she  used  to  sing.  Grandma's  eyes 
are  wet  now  as  she  thinks  of  the  dear  old  lady  who  laid 
her  hands  upon  her  head,  and  wished  her  many  a  "  Merry 
Christmas"  and  a  "Happy  New  Year." 

Happy  children!  Christmas  was  then,  is  now,  and  ever 
shall  be  most  emphatically  the  children's  day.     Unclouded 


GRANDMAS  CHRISTMAS.  69 

by  the  memories  of  the  past  or  anxieties  for  the  future,  the 
birthday  of  the  Babe  of  Bethlehem  is  to  them  a  source  of 
the  purest,  brightest  joy.  But  to  return  to  grandma;  the 
scene  changes,  or  rather  passes  on,  for  grandma  has  a  pan 
orama  to-night.  Christmas  eves  pass,  several  of  them, 
like  the  one  I  have  described,  until  there  comes  one  which 
has  a  vacant  chair — yes;  more  than  one;  grandmother's 
white  head  has  been  laid  away,  and  sister  Ruth  sleeps  by 
her  side,  just  down  beneath  the  willows;  brother  Richard, 
too,  has  gone  to  a  home  of  his  own,  beyond  the  sea,  and 
childhood's  Christmas  has  passed  away  forever;  the  scene 
moves  on — more  changes,  more  empty  chairs,  and  then 
grandma  is  in  another  home,  another  family  circle,  of  which 
she  is  the  center.  Reuben,  the  husband  of  her  youth,  stands 
by  her  side,  and  there  is  another  Reuben,  and  Robert,  and 
a  little  Ruth,  and  Bennie,  and  baby  May;  and  they  are 
laughing  at  the  red  berries  as  they  help  papa  dress  the 
pictures,  and  they  are  looking  for  Christmas  boxes 
and  Christmas  puddings;  singing,  too,  the  same  carols, 
playing  the  same  games.  Ah!  grandma's  eyes  are  wet 
again  now,  for  that  was  baby  May's  only  Christmas,  and 
little  Bennie's  last  one;  when  Christmas  came  again  they 
were  sleeping  beneath  the  snow.  Quicker  now  the  scenes 
pass  by — change  after  change,  losses,  crosses,  disappoint 
ments,  journeyings,  sicknesses,  bereavements,  and  sorrows, 
until  grandma's  spring  and  summer  days  are  past,  and  she 


70  CHRISTMAS  AND  OTHER  PIECES. 

finds   herself   in  the*  autumn  of   life  in  another    home,    a 
stranger  in  a  strange  land. 

Christmas  comes;  it  is  not  kept  just  as  she  had  been 
accustomed  to  keep  it,  but  it  is  still  the  children's  day; 
there  are  the  same  sweet  songs  of  good-will  and  peace;  true, 
there  are  new  carols,  new  music,  and  new  methods  of 
enjoyment,  but  it  is  still  the  birthday  of  the  Babe  of  Beth 
lehem.  Year  after  year  passes.  Ah  !  who  can  tell  all  that 
grandma  saw  in  that  quiet  panorama  ? 

Old  age  comes  at  last,  and  one  Christmas  eve  when 
Reuben  tells  her  he  believes  it  is  his  last  one.  Wife,  he 
says,  it  will  not  bs  long  before  you  will  come  to  me.  If 
you  should  stay  a  few  more  Christmas  days,  remember,  I 
shall  be  thinking  of  you  then.  I  believe  they  keep  Christ 
mas  in  Heaven.  Surely  they  do;  is  it  not  to  the  Babe  of 
Bethlehem  they  owe  Heaven  ?  I  will  look  for  the  children 
and  grandchildren  up  there,  and  we  will  be  near  you  if  we 
can. 

After  his  d  eath  grandma  went  to  reside  with  her  daugh 
ter.  A  few  years  had  passed  by.  She  had  not  forgotten 
his  words,  .and  now,  as  her  thoughts  had  called  up  the 
panorama  of  her  life,  how  they  seemed  to  sound  in  her 
ears:  I  will  surely  be  near  you  or  look  at  you  at  Christ 
mas.  O  Reuben,  said  she,  could  I  but  see  you  !  And  then 
her  thoughts  took  wing,  but  her  eyes  were  heavy.  Soon 
her  head  drooped  upon  her  breast,  and  she  found  herself 


GRANDMAS  CHRISTMAS.  71 

standing  by  the  pearly  gates  of  the  celestial  city.  The 
gate  was  ajar;  she  heard  music,  sweet  music;  softly  she 
stepped  inside;  multitudes  were  passing  in  white  robes, 
with  harps  in  their  hands,  and  soon  these  words  rose  on 
her. ear,  "Glory  to  God  in  the  highest,  good-will  and  peace 
to  man."  Oh  !  thought  she,  they  are  keeping  Christmas  in 
Heaven.  Reuben  was  right.  But  how  came  I  here  ? 
Why  do  they  not  speak  to  me  ?  for  no  one  seemed  to  be 
aware  of  her  presence.  She  began  to  look  around  upon 
the  glory  of  the  place.  She  saw  the  splendor  of  the  great 
white  throne,  but  she  turned  away,  afraid  to  look  up.  Oh! 
:she  thought,  once  I  was  determined  to  gain  a  place  upon 
that  throne.  I  wanted  the  white  robe,  the  new  name,  the 
•crown  of  life — all,  all  I  wanted  that  is  promised  to  those 
who  shall  overcome;  but  now,  now  the  battle  is  over;  the 
victory  is  won.  Oh  !  where  will  He  put  me  ?  He  knows 
all  my  weakness,  all  my  unworthiness.  Ah  yes;  He 
knows  it,  knows  it  altogether !  I  shall  be  satisfied  where- 
•ever  He  shall  place  me.  But  Reuben,  where  shall  I  look 
for  Reuben?  I  always  think  of  him  as  just  down  by  the 
crystal  stream.  He  did  so  love  a  home  by  the  water-side. 
And  so  she  moves  along  through  groups  of  shining  ones 
until  she  sees,  yes,  she  does  see  Reuben,  and  he  is  by  the 
beautiful  river  close  to  the  tree  of  life,  standing  near  a 
pretty  home  all  surrounded  by  flowers.  Oh,  such  flowers  ! 
Why,  there  were  roses,  and  lilies,  and  violets,  and  an 


72  CHRISTMAS  AND  OTHER  PIECES. 

abundance  of  others  that  she  had  never  seen  anything  like, 
so  beautiful.  Oh  Reuben,  she  cried,  are  those  flowers  for 
me  ?  but  Reuben  does  not  look  at  her;  he  is  looking  very 
intently  at  something  that  seemed  to  be  beneath  him. 
She  felt  afraid,  but  was  about  to  speak  to  him  again,  when 
soft,  sweet  sounds  arose  upon  her  ear;  she  looked  up,  and 
lo!  a  little  group  of  cherubs  upon  golden  wing  approached; 
they  were  singing;  they  did  not  notice  her,  but  drew  near 
to  Reuben,  and  looked  down  as  he  did;  then  they  sang 
again:  We  are  looking  at  you,  mother;  we  are  waiting  for 
you,  mother;  yes,  waiting  for  you.  How  her  heart  beat 
now!  She  looks  again.  Oh,  yes  !  they  are  mine,  mine,  she 
cried.  Why,  there's  Robert,  and  Lucy,  and  Charlie,  little 
Bennie,  and  baby  May  !  Oh,  speak  to  me,  speak  to  me  ! 
Why  do  you  not  look  at  me?  Then  a  gentle  voice  at  her  side 
said,  They  do  not  see  you,  grandma;  they  are  looking  at  you, 
but  not  here;  you  are  not  visible  here;  you  are  only  here 
in  thought.  Reuben  is  looking  at  you  down  yonder  in 
your  chair  by  the  fireside;  your  mind  was  upon  him,  and  I 
have  given  you  a  sight  of  him  and  your  future  home.  Go 
back  now  ;  soon  you  shall  come,  and  they  shall  see  you 
here.  She  looked  at  the  speaker.  Ah  !  it  needed  no  words 
to  tell  her  who  it  was.  She  saw  Him  whom  her  soul  loved, 
who  was  to  her  the  chief  among  ten  thousand,  the  one 
altogether  lovely — He  who  was  the  Babe  of  Bethlehem> 
the  guide  of  her  youth,  the  friend  of  her  riper  years,  and  the 


CHRISTMAS.  73 

staff  of  her  old  age.  Full  of  emotion,  she  was  about  to  cast 
herself  at  his  feet,  but  the  excitement  caused  her  to  awake. 
Oh,  she  cried,  it  was  a  dream  then,  but  what  a  beautiful 
dream !  Why,  they  are  keeping  Christmas  in  Heaven !  Yes, 
oh  yes;  keeping  Christmas  in  Heaven  !  Blessed  grandma, 
who  can  tell  when  the  bells  ring  out  Christmas  again  but 
you  too  may  be  keeping  it  in  Heaven. 


CHRISTMAS. 

"GOOD-WILL  AND  PEACE." 

SWEET  song  of  the  angels,  when  they  came  down  to  earth 
The  glad  tidings  to  bring  of  Immanuel's  birth! 
In  the  stillness  of  night  it  rang  o'er  the  plains, 
While  woods,  hills,  and  valleys  re-echoed  the  strains. 
'Twas  good-will  and  peace,  sang  the  heavenly  throng, 
And  to-day  we  repeat  that  beautiful  song. 

'Twas  good-will  and  peace  to  the  shepherds  came  greeting, 
And  told  where  the  infant  Redeemer  was  sleeping; 
It  brought  the  wise  men  with  their  gifts  from  afar, 
Guided  safe  by  the  rays  of  Bethlehem's  star; 
Good-will  and  peace!  ah,  how  sweetly  it  smiled 
In  the  lovely  face  of  that  beautiful  child ! 


74  CHRISTMAS  AftD  OTHER  PIECES. 

There  was  good-will  and  peace  in  his  every  breath, 

Through  his  life  of  sorrow,  suffering,  and  death; 

Yes,  good-will  and  peace  when  the  blood  trickled  down 

From  the  piercing  points  of  his  thorny  crown; 

Good-will  in  the  garden,  bent  in  agony  low, 

When  an  angel  hand  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  brow; 

Good-will  as  he  hung  upon  Calvary's  tree, 
And  purchased  salvation  for  you  and  for  me; 
Good-will  when  he  rose  and  ascended  to  Heaven; 
Good-will  and  peace  to  humanity  given. 
Sweet  song  of  the  angels,  they  brought  it  to  men, 
But  redeemed  ones  have  sung  it  ever  since  then! 

Oh,  could  we  but  know  how  they  sing  it  above 
When  Christmas  comes  with  its  memories  of  love, 
Our  dear  ones,  whose  voices  once  sang  with  us  here, 
But  to-day  are  swelling  the  chorus  up  there! 
Who  can  tell  how  they  hover  on  golden  wing, 
To  list'  to  the  carols  that  they  used  to  sing? 

These  notes  have  outlived  all  the  changes  of  time, 
Increasing  in  volume  and  music  sublime; 
And  to-day  o'er  the  wide  world  a  multitude  throng 
Are  singing  again  that  most  beautiful  song. 
Will  it  ever  be  hushed?     Ah,  never,  no  never! 
Glory  to  God!  we  will  sing  it  forever. 


THE  BABY  OF  BETHLEHEM.  75 

'Twas  good-will  and  peace.     What  a  beautiful  thought 
The  Babe  in  the  manger  at  Bethlehem  brought ! 
Precious  motto  of  love!  let  us  make  it  ours; 
'Twill  make  this  rough  world  a  garden  of  flowers. 
Let  us  live  it  and  sing  it  wherever  we  rove, 
'Till  we  spend  Chrismas-day  with  Jesus  above. 


THE  BABY  OF  BETHLEHEM. 

Christmas,  1882. 

ALL  hail  to  the  day  through  eternity  blest, 
The  day  to  the  children  the  brightest  and  best; 
Of  all  days  in  the  year  the  happiest  to  them  — 
Birthday  of  the  Baby  of  Bethlehem. 

There  are  many  fair  sights  in  this  world  of  toil, 
But  oh,  none  are  so  sweet  as  an  infant's  smile! 
How  I'd  like  to  have  seen  that  beautiful  gem, 
The  smile  of  the  Baby  of  Bethlehem ! 

The  angels  beheld  it  and  cime  down  to  sing, 
Glad  tidings  of  joy  to  all  people  we  bring; 
Good-will  and  peace  sang  the  heavenly  throng — 
'Twas  the  Baby  made  that  beautiful  song. 


76  CHRISTMAS  AND  OTHER  PIECES. 

Then  from  out  the  blue  sky  there  came  a  bright  star 
Which  the  sages  beheld  and  followed  afar ; 
'Tvvas  the  Baby's  star,  and  in  safety  it  led 
Their  feet  all  the  way  to  his  manger  bed. 

That  song  sung  by  angelic^choristers  then 
Is  sung  ever  since  by  the  children  of  men; 
Sang  on  earth  to-day,  old  and  young  will  unite, 
And  sung  up  in  Heaven^by  the  robed  in  white. 

Ah,  how  many  dear  children  we  loved  are  gone, 
And  are  singing  to-day  by  the  golden  throne! 
Some  sang  good-will  and  peace  upon  earth  last  year, 
But  now  they  are  swelling  the  chorus  up  there. 

Come  children  and  join  in  the  beautiful  strains 
That  were  sung  by  the  angels  first  on  the  plains, 
And  give  each  little  heart  to  shine  as  a  gem 
In  the  crown  of  the  Baby  of  Bethlehem. 


FAREWELL  OLD  YEAR. 

FAREWELL  old  year 

With  all  thy  care, 
With  all  thy  load  of  good  and  ill. 

Thousands  have  gone 

Since  thy  first  dawn. 
What  tongues  are  silent,  hands  are  still! 

Is  there  not  one, 

Near  the  white  throne, 
Recording  angel  noting  down? 

Can  aught  pass  by 

His  searching  eye? 
Are  all  things  by  him  clearly  known? 

Counts  he  the  tears, 

The  mother's  tears, 
O'er  little  baby  faces  shed — 

The  golden  heads 

In  cradle  beds, 
Her  precious  darlings  cold  and  dead? 


78  CHRISTMAS  AND  OTHER  PIECES. 

Tells  he  the  feet, 

The  merry  feet 
That  used  to  play  around  our  door? 

Now  'neath  the  hill, 

Icy  and  still, 
They'll  come  to  disturb  nevermore. 

Does  he  note  down 

When  mother's  gone, 
Tired  hands  folded  across  her  breast? 

When  life's  wheels  stop, 

And  fathers  drop, 
And  laid  'neath  the  willows  to  rest 

Marks  he  the  heads, 
The  snow-white  heads, 

Under  the  coffin-lids  sleeping? 
Loved  grandpas  there, 
And  grandmas  dear — 

Oh  say,  has  he  them  in  his  keeping? 

Notes  he  the  young, 

The  weak  and  strong 
The  scythe  of  death  this  year  cut  down? 

Ah  yes ;  he  knows, 

All,  all  he  knows. 
Oh,  blessed  truth,  all  things  are  known  t 


FAREWELL  OLD   YEAR.  79 

He  never  sleeps, 

But  watch  still  keeps. 
Oh,  think  of  the  list  in  his  hand! 

Too  high  I  find 

For  human  mind 
Are  thoughts  like  that.     In  awe  I  stand. 

But  some  are  glad; 

All  are  not  sad; 
There's  sunshine  here  as  well  as  snow; 

And  some  have  health, 

And  some  have  wealth — 
Storms  ofttimes  bring  a  cheerful  glow. 

Our  life  is  made 

Of  sun  and  shade, 
Like  April's  show'ry  weather; 

But  oh,  to  feel 

God  leads  us  still — 
Blesses  smiles  and  tears  together! 

Farewell  old  year, 

With  all  thy  care, 
With  all  thy  weight  of  weal  and  woe. 

Come  in  new  year, 

We  will  not  fear; 
God's  angel  watches  all  below. 

'UNIVERSITY! 


SPIRITISM. 

Regard  not  them   that  have  familiar  spirits,  neither  seek  after  wizards,  to  be  defiled  by 
them.     I  am  the  Lord  your  God."     Leviticus  19:31. 

I  KNOW  there  is  a  spirit  land 

To  which  the  righteous  go, 
A  holy,  happy,  blissful  land— 

My  Bible  tells  me  so. 

A  land  where  fields  are  ever  green, 

Flowers  perennial  bloom, 
No  care  or  sorrow  felt  or  seen — 

The  saints'  celestial  home. 

A  land  where  all  is  bright  and  fair, 

And  glorious  to  behold; 
Through  pearly  gates  they  enter  there, 

And  walk  in  streets  of  gold. 

Our  sainted  mothers  are  up  there; 

Sweet  are  the  songs  they  sing; 
There,  too,  our  little  darlings  are, 

Cherubs  on  golden  wing. 

They  hover  round  our  pathway  here; 
Our  weary  feet  attend; 


SPIRITISM.  81 

In  dreams  they  whisper  in  our  ear, 

And  o'er  our  pillow  bend. 
But  not  through  tables  do  they  talk, 

Or  medium's  hand  and  pen. 
Away!  the  sacrilegious  thought, 

Offspring  of  foolish  men! 
Oh,  shame  upon  the  minds  of  those 

Who  dare  be  so  profane, 
Names  of  departed  souls  to  use 

For  sake  of  paltry  gain ! 

Tis  only  Satan  and  his  hosts, 

On  scientific  track- 
Wizards,  and  witches,  goblins,  ghosts, 

At  their  old  tricks  come  back. 
God  said,  "Let  such  be  put  to  death,"* 

"Thou  shalt  not  on  them  wait;"f 
Pollution  then,  their  very  breath; 

Their  names  a  scorn  and  hate. 

Long  ages  too  the  Christian  world 

Fiercely  against  them  stood, 
And  vengeance  at  their  heads  was  hurled, 

In  bonds,  and  fire,  and  blood. 


'Leviticus  20:6,  27. 

fDeut.  18:10,  n,  12;  i  Chron.  10:13 


82  CHRISTMAS  AND  OTHER  PIECES. 

But  things  are  greatly  altered  now; 

Wizards  are  in  demand; 
To  royal  palaces  they  go; 

In  public  halls  they  stand. 

Our  grandsires  burnt  the  witch  at  stake,. 

Decrepid,  poor,  and  old; 
But  clever  witches  now  can  make 

A  goodly  pile  of  gold. 

Then  necromancers  and  their  crimes 
Were  viewed  with  pious  dread; 

'Tis  "friends  of  progress"  in  our  times 
Insult  the  sleeping  dead. 

If  ever  demons  laughed  'tis  now; 

They're  on  a  vantage  ground; 
For  rich  and  poor,  for  high  and  low, 

A  famous  trap  they've  found. 

They  used  to  come  in  black  and  white, 

Grim  as  they  were  able; 
Now  they've  learned  to  be  polite, 

And  gently  tip  the  table. 

What  have  they  done  to  help  the  mind 

The  ills  of  life  to  bear? 
What  broken  spirits  do  they  bind? 

From  whose  eye  wipe  the  tear? 


SPIRITISM.  85 

They  turn  poor  silly  women's  brain, 

Rob  weak  men  of  their  sense; 
Their  insane  converts  to  maintain, 

They  give  the  State  expense. 

Oh,  Christian,  read  your  Bible  more; 

Cleave  to  the  good  old  road; 
Enter  thy  closet,  shut  the  door, 

And  oftener  talk  with  God! 

Live  for  thy  Saviour  here  below; 

Tell  sinners  of  his  love; 
Warn  them  to  shun  the  abyss  of  woe,. 

And  seek  the  Heaven  above. 


THE  WHISPERER. 

'A  froward  man  soweth  strife;  and  a  whisperer  separateth  ;hief  friends."     Proverbs  16:  28. 

How  I  love  the  sayings  of  Solomon's  times  ! 

I  learned  them  well  in  the  days  of  my  youth. 
They  are  as  dear  to  me  as  the  old  church  chimes, 

And  I  know  they  ring  from  the  belfry  of  truth. 
But  these  notes  are  sad,  and  they  fall  on  my  ears 
Like  a  wail  of  anguish,  of  sadness,  and  tears. 

They  tell  of  a  friendship  no  tempest  could  shake; 

Of  ties  that  no  earthly  affliction  could  part; 
Of  a  bond  that  no  court  in  the  world  could  break, 

And  a  love  that  is  stamped  upon  tender  heart; 
Of  a  cord  there's  no  power  on  earth  can  dissever, 
By  the  word  of  the  whisperer,  parted  forever. 

They  point  to  a  home  once  an  Eden's  bower, 
Resounding  with  voices  full  of  joyous  glee, 

All  fragrant  with  many  a  cherished  flower, 

As  happy  and  sweet  as  man's  home  can  e'er  be. 

Now  wretched  and  witherefl,  all  loveliness  gone, 

By  a  word  from  the  whisperer's  poisonous  tongue. 

They  tell  of  hopes  blighted,  and  blots  on  good  name; 
Of  fond  ones  slighted,  and  souls  left  to  mourn; 


THE   WHISPERER.  85» 

Of  dark  heads  turned  gray,  and  bright  eyes  wept  dim, 

And  of  bliss  departed  that  can  ne'er  return. 
Alas!  pure  lives  are    wrecked,    and    true    hearts    are 

broken, 
By  a  word  that  the  whisperer's  tongue  hath  spoken. 

Oh  !  the  whisperer's  an  enemy  all  the  world  o'er, 
In  the  school,  the  office,  the  stores,  on  the  street; 

They  come  to  our  homes  and  around  the  church  door,, 
Even  at  prayers  oft'  the  nuisance  we  meet. 

There  are  those  in  the  pulpit,  as  .well  as  the  pew, 

Who  know  by  experience  what  whisperers  can  do. 

I  suppose  'twill  be  so  while  the  world  shall  endure; 

Fond  hearts  will  be  broken,  and  lives  be  made  sad. 
But  there's  golden  bells  on  the  other  shore, 

The  sweetest  of  chimes  that  shall  ring  full  and  glad; 
And  all  over  Heaven  these  notes  shall  be  heard, 
There's  no  whisperer  found  in  this  beautiful  world. 


HE  COUNTETH  MY  STEPS. 

Doth  not  he  see  my  ways,  and  count  all  my  steps? 

HE  counted  my  steps  in  my  childhood's  day, 
And  my  little  feet  led  in  wisdom's  way. 
He  counted  my  steps  in  the  days  of  youth, 
And  taught  me  to  walk  in  the  paths  of  truth. 

Ha  counted  my  steps  in  maturer  years, 
Steps  lit  up  with  smiles,  and  steps  wet  with  tears, 
Steps  of  affliction,  steps  in  sorrow's  dark  day, 
Steps  of  anguish  and  pain  o'er  a  thorny  way, 

Steps  of  prosperity,  steps  to  get  wealth, 
Steps  of  adversity  and  failing  health, 
Steps  of  pleasure  and  peaceful  joys, 
Steps  of  trouble  amid  bustle  and  noise. 

He  counted  my  steps  in  the  midst  of  my  cares, 
The  steps  of  anxiety,  of  toil,  and  of  fears; 
He  counts  my  steps  now  the  day  is  declining; 
He  knows  I  must  walk  on  his  arm  reclining. 

He  will  count  my  steps  all  the  way  I  shall  go 
When  my  feet  are  feeble  and  the  steps  are  slow; 
He  knoweth  my  way;  He  will  leave  me  never, 
Till  I  step  thro'  the  gateway  of  rest  forever. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  PRAYER. 

"  My  house  shall  be  called  the  house  of  prayer."     Mark  n:  17. 

MY  house  shall  be  called  the  house  of  prayer; 
Then  why  do  ye  bring  your  merchandise  there  ? 
Have  ye  not  places  for  traffic  and  trade, 
That  a  business  mart  of  my  house  is  made? 

My  house  shall  be  called  the  house  of  prayer; 
Then  why  do  you  bring  your  worldliness  there? 
Ye  lovers  of  mammon  in  saintly  attire, 
Approach  not  mine  altar  with  unholy  fire. 

My  house  shall  be  called  the  house  of  prayer; 
Then  why  do  ye  bring  your  thoughtlessness  there  ? 
Foolish  jesting  and  levity's  out  of  place 
In  the  hallow'd  halls  of  the  temple  of  grace. 

My  house,  shall  be  called  the  house  of  prayer; 
I  will  bless  the  true  humble  worshiper  there; 
But  he  who  would  have  a  sweet  foretaste  of  rest 
Must  let  love  and  good-will  abide  in  his  breast. 

My  house  shall  be  called  the  house  of  prayer; 
The  rich  and  the  poor  shall  be  equal  there; 
To  the  lonely  and  contrite  I'll  grace  impart, 
And  bind  up  the  wounds  of  the  broken  in  heart. 


CHRISTMAS  AND  OTHER  PIECES. 

My  house  shall  be  called  the  house  of  prayer; 
They  shall  gain  new  strength  who  wait  on  me  there; 
Drink  water  of  life  from  the  o'erflowing  well, 
And  with  glad  songs  of  joy  their  voices  shall  swell. 

My  house  shall  be  called  the  house  of  prayer, 
And  'tis  Heaven's  own  light  beams  softly  there; 
If  my  people  would  dwell  altogether  in  love, 
'Twould  be  more  like  the  beautiful  temple  above. 


WOE  TO  THEM  THAT  ARE  AT  EASE  IN  ZION. 

Amos  6  :  i. 

OH,  woe  to  them  who  sit  at  ease 

On  Zion's  sacred  floor, 
Who  spend  their  time  just  as  they  please 

Within  the  holy  door  ! 

Oh,  woe  to  them  who  bear  the  name 

Of  Zion's  heavenly  King, 
Yet  never  strive  to  spread  his  fame, 

Or  subjects  to  him  bring  ! 


IVOR  TO  THEM  AT  EASE.  89 

Oh,  woe  to  them  who  read  and  pray, 

And  to  the  temple  come, 
Yet  care  not  for  the  souls  who  stray, 

Nor  lead  a  wanderer  home  ! 

Oh,  woe  to  them  who  dwell  at  ease, 

And  Satan's  flag  unfurled  ! 
Yes;  woe  to  them;  such  saints  as  these 

Will  ne'er  convert  the  world. 

Ne'er  since  he  went  to  Eden's  bowers 

Has  Satan  harder  tried 
Than  in  these  later  days  of  ours 

To  buise  the  Crucified. 

He's  hard  at  work;  while  Christians  sleep, 

Full  well  he  bides  his  time; 
O'er  lazy  Christians  angels  weep 

In  yonder  blissful  clime. 

Then  rouse  thee,  Christian;  up,  awake  ! 

The  love  of  ease  cast  down, 
Or  other  hands  the  prize  will  take, 

Another  wear  thy  crown. 

Sleep  not  in  Zion's  sacred  halls, 

But  labor  for  thy  rest; 
Gather  within  her  peaceful  walls 

The  weary  and  unblest. 


90  CHRISTMAS  AND  OTHER  PIECES. 

So  shalt  thou  sinners  bring  to  God, 

•  Who  now  as  outcasts  roam; 
Blessings  shall  cheer  thee  on  thy  road, 
And  Heaven  shall  be  thy  home. 


HE  LEADETH  ME. 

HE  leadeth  me.    Ah!  can  it  be? 
What !  lead  a  worthless  worm  like  me  ? 

Oh  wondrous  love  ! 
He  leadeth  me  where  fields  are  green, 
Where  flowers  of  every  hue  are  seen. 

Oh  wondrous  love! 

He  leads  me  when  the  dark  clouds  shade, 
And  tempests  burst  above  my  head. 

Oh  wondrous  love  ! 
He  leads  me  when  the  floods  are  deep, 
And  every  step  I  stop  to  weep. 

Oh  wondrous  love  ! 

He  leads  me  when  the  billows  roll, 
And  threaten  to  o'erwhelm  my  soul. 
Oh  wondrous  love  ! 


TRUST  IN  THE  LORD.  91 

He  leads  me  when  I  cannot  see, 
Tho'  dark  as  night  my  path  may  be. 
Oh  wondrous  love  ! 

He'll  lead  me  every  step  I'll  go, 

When  feet  are  weak,  and  steps  are  slow. 

Oh  wondrous  love  ! 
He'll  lead  me  down  to  Jordan's  river, 
Then  take  me  home  to  rest  forever. 

Oh  wondrous  love  ! 


TRUST  IN  THE  LORD. 

Proverbs  3:5. 

TRUST  in  the  Lord- 
Trust  says  his  word; 
Trust  not  sometimes — 
Trust  him  all  times. 
Trust  him  thy  care; 
Trust  and  not  fear. 
Trust  him  for  bread, 
Trust  and  be  fed. 
Trust  him  thy  woes — 


92  CHRISTMAS  AND  OTHER  PIECES. 

Trust  him,  he  knows. 
Trust  him  all  day, 
Trust  all  the  way; 
Trust  in  the  light; 
Trust  in  the  night, 
Trust  in  the  storm — 
Trust,  'twill  not  harm. 
Trust  in  the  dark — 
Trust  him,  he'll  hark. 
Trust  in  distress; 
Trust  him,  he'll  bless. 
Trust  when  earth's  blank- 
Trust  in  his  bank. 
Trust  mid  earth's  din, 
Trust  all  to  him. 
Trust  'mid  earth's  strife; 
Trust  him  thy  life. 
Trust  thy  last  breath; 
Trust  him  in  death. 


'     GATHERIXOS, 

BIRTHDAY    FESTIVALS, 

AND 

D  K  A  T  H  S . 


OUR    OLD    HYMNS 


BIRTHDAY  GATHERINGS  OF  OLD    LADIES. 


HERE  is  something  sacred  in  the  gathering  together 
of  aged  pilgrims'  to  celebrate  a  birthday.  Sitting 
amid  the  beautiful  flowers  with  which  the  children  and 
grandchildren  have  tastefully  decorated  the  parlors  and 
the  table  for  the  dear  grandma's  party,  and  viewing  the 
many  tokens  of  affection  presented  on  such  occasions, 
making  the  heart  of  the  recipient  to  feel  that  her  cup  is 
full  and  running  over  with  love;  the  lingering-awhile  about 
the  mile-stone  that  tells  the  distance  already  traveled,  and 
the  uncertainty  of  meeting  with  another  before  the  end  of 
the  journey, — give  rise  to  emotions  that  must  be  felt  to  be 
understood.  At  such  times  too  the  thoughts  of  the  heart 
will  turn  back  to  the  scenes  of  by-gone  years,  old  places, " 
old  faces  of  dear  ones  absent,  and  loved  ones  laid  away  to 
sleep  under  the  clods  of  the  valley,  or  beneath  the  flowers 
on  the  mountain-top;  and  the  sigh  will  rise,  and  the  tear 
will  fall.  But  just  then  there  comes  a  gentle  whisper  from 
the  unseen  though  ever-present  Friend:  "Let  not  your 
heart  be  troubled,  in  my  Father's  house  are  many  man 
sions."  Ah  !  then  the  eye  of  faith  looks  up  and  catches  a 
glimpse  of  the  beautiful  land  where  the  loved  ones  dwell, 


96  BIRTHDAY  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

and  where  Jesus  stands  ready  to  welcome  his  weary  ones 
home  to  eternal  rest.  Again  he  whispers,  "  Come  unto  me 
and  I  will  give  you  rest."  Sweet  thoughts,  sweet  words 
to  those  whose  feet  are  weary,  who  are  just  down  by  the 
river-side,  only  waiting  for  the  crossing  over.  Oh,  how  it 
comforts  us  !  And,  though  the  shadows  of  the  closing  day 
are  deepening  around  us,  we  are  able  to  say,  The  evening- 
time  is  light.  And  we  part  with  the  bright  prospect  of  by 
and  by  meeting  each  other,  and  the  beloved  lady  whose 
birthday  we  have  celebrated,  in  one  of  those  mansions 
where  the  Lamb  that  is  in  the  midst  of  the  throne  shall 
feed  us,  and  shall  lead  us  to  living  fountains  of  water,  and 
God  shall  wipe  away  all  tears  from  our  eyes. 


BIRTHDAY  CELEBRATION. 

UNITED    AGES    OF    ELDERLY    LADIES    PRESENT,    ONE    THOUSAND    YEARS. 

To  MRS    MOSES,  aged  80  years. 

DEAR  sister,  we  meet  your  birthday  to  greet, 
Our  hearts  full  of  thoughts  that  are  tender  and  sweet; 
We  have  pass'd  our  spring,  summer,  and  autumn  hours, 
But  our  winter's  day  is  still  fragrant  with  flowers. 

Life's  morn  with  its  joys,  and  noon  with  its  cares, 
Its  afternoon  partings,  its  sorrows  and  tears, 
Sunlight  and  shades,  many  a  conflict  and  fight, 
But  'tis  evening  now,  and  at  eve  it  is  light. 

We  bless  and  adore  the  great  Father  in  Heaven 

For  the  long  useful  life  to  you  he  has  given; 

You've  sown  o'er  your  pathway  seeds  of  kindness  and 

love, 
Precious  grain  you  shall  reap  in  the  harvest  above. 

Jesus  holds  in  his  hand  a  beautiful  crown 
For  our  dear  Sister  Moses,  when  her  work  is  done, 
Richly  studded  with  jewels,  and  gems  all  aglow, 
Forever  to  shine  on  her  glorified  brow. 


98  BIRTHDA  Y  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

There  are  loved  ones  now  watching  close  down  by  the 

stream 

For  her  golden  sunset,  with  its  radiant  beam; 
And  still  they  will  watch  'til  it  gently  goes  down, 
Then  they'll  welcome  its  rise  in  their  own  sweet  home. 

We  are  passing  away,  and  it  will  not  be  long 
Ere  we'll  go  one  by  one  to  the  white-robed  throng; 
Let  those  who  shall  first  the  river  cross  o'er 
Welcome  the  rest  to  the  beautiful  shore. 
Fruit  Vale,  March  30,  1880. 


BIRTHDAY  CELEBRATION. 

UNITED    AGES    OF    ELDERLY    LADIES    PRESENT,    EIGHT    HUNDRED    YEAR!- 

To  MRS.  WALKINGTON,  aged  74  years. 

DEAR  sister,  we  are  glad  to  greet  you  to-day; 

These  gatherings  to  us  are  dear, 
Although  they  remind  us  we're  passing  away, 

And  nearing  the  home  "  over  there." 


BIRTHDAY   CELEBRATION.  99 

We  bless  with  you  the  kind  Father  in  fleaven 

Who  has  gently  guided  your  way, 
And  beyond  the  time  which  to  man  is  given, 

In  his  love  permits  you  to  stay. 

When  you  gave  him  your  heart,  the  world  looked  bright, 

And  your  skies  were  serene  and  blue; 
And  in  gloomy  days,  or  in  sorrowful  night, 

He  has  never  forsaken  you. 

Now  he  blesses  your  age  with  comfort  and  peace,     . 

And  he  fills  your  heart  with  his  love, 
And  gives  you  a  title  to  a  mansion  of  bliss 

In  his  kingdom  of  glory  above. 

There  are  dear  ones  there  who  have  passed  on  before^ 

And  left  you  a  mourner  below; 
You  will  meet  them  again  on  the  golden  shore, 

The  loved  of  the  long,  long  ago. 

There's  a  beautiful  group  just  down  by  the  stream; 

They  are  watching  your  sunset  sky 
For  the  purple  an  d  gold  of  each  fading  beam 

That  shall  rise  in  the  sweet  "by  and  by." 

And  your  Julia  is  there  near  the  gates  of  pearl, 

Pure  as  her  robe  of  spotless  white; 
She  is  waiting  for  you,  that  beautiful  girl, 

In  the  rest  of  the  saints  in  light. 


100  BIRTHDAY  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

The  Master  is  there  with  your  crown  in  his  hand, 

Richly  studded  with  gems  so  rare; 
When  you  pass  through  the  gates  of  the  better  land, 

'Twill  be  yours  forever  to  wear. 

Oh,  how  sweet  to  look  back  on  a  well-spent  life, 
As  the  end  of  your  days  draws  nigh  ! 

To  have  sown  good  seeds  in  this  region  of  strife, 
And  gather  the  harvest  on  high. 

God  bless  Sister  Walkington's  closing  years 

With  his  choicest  blessings  of  love. 
We  will  meet  by  and  by,  free  from  sorrow  and  tears, 

In  her  beautiful  home  above. 
Alameda,  July  12,  1881. 


BIRTHDAY    CELEBRATION. 

UNITED    AGES   OF    ELDERLY    LADIES    PRESENT,  ONE    THOUSAND    AND    FIFTY-THREE    YEARS. 

To  MRS.  GERALD,  aged  75  years. 

DEAR  sister,  with  pleasure  we  greet  you  here 
Upon  this  first  day  of  your  life's  new  year; 
Many  happy  returns  we  hope  will  come 
Ere  you  leave  for  your  bright  and  better  home. 

These  mile-stones  remind  us  we're  getting  old, 
And  drawing  near  to  the  city  of  gold; 
Well,  the  greatest  part  of  the  journey's  done; 
Soon  battle  will  cease  and  vict'ry  be  won. 

Tis  pleasant  to  walk  by  the  river-side, 
And  watch  the  swell  of  the  evening-tide; 
And  how  lovely  the  scene  that  meets  the  eye 
In  the  purple  glow  of  the  sunset  sky. 

But  brighter  far  are  the  glorious  rays 
That  shine  forth  on  the  Christian's  closing  days, 
When  life's  sun  goes  down  over  Jordan's  stream, 
Lighting  the  waters  with  its  golden  beam. 


102  BIRTHDAY  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

Dear  Sister  Gerald,  your  sun  has  shone  bright 
Through  life's  long  day;  now  at  eve  it  is  light, 
With  Jesus  to  lead  each  step  of  the  way, 
And  dear  ones  to  comfort  you  every  day. 

How  sweet  to  sit  down  in  life's  evening  shade 
Close  by  the  river  and  not  be  afraid, 
To  quietly  wait  just  down  on  the  strand 
All  ready  to  cross  to  the  better  land. 

Jesus  stands  holding  a  beautiful  crown 
To  place  on  your  brow  when  your  work  is  done, 
And  your  loved  ones  wait  in  the  white-robed  throng 
To  welcome  you  home  with  music  and  song. 

In  your  blissful  home  by  the  crystal  sea, 
Close  by  the  shade  of  life's  beautiful  tree, 
We'll  meet  by  and  by  each  other  to  greet, 
And  talk  of  the  mile-stones  we  used  to  meet. 

God  bless  our  sister,  and  her  dear  ones  here; 
Make  the  rest  of  her  days  still  bright  and  clear; 
And  when  time  shall  have  brought  her  life  to  a  close, 
Calm  be  her  slumber,  and  sweet  her  repose. 


A  TRIBUTE  OF  LOVE. 

To  the  memory  of  MRS.  M.  GERALD,  who  died  March  10,   1882.      From  the  aged  friends 
who  celebrated  her  birthday  for  a  few  years  past. 

FAREWELL,  gentle  sister,  we  bid  thee  adieu; 

We  will  not  forget  our  last  gathering  with  you. 

We  hoped  to  have  many  returns  of  the  day, 

But  there  came  a  soft  whisper,  "  She's  passing  away." 

We're  glad  that  we  met  on  the  brink  of  the  stream, 
For  the  waters  wore  bright  with  thy  sunset  beam; 
But  the  same  soft  whisper  came  over  the  strand, 
"  She's  only  a  step  from  the  beautiful  land." 

The  cold  river  to  her  was  not  deep  or  wide, 

For  the  Saviour  lifted  her  over  the  tide. 

He  has  given  the  robe,  the  palm,  and  the  crown, 

And  the  loved  ones  have  sung  her  a  welcome  home.^ 

Twas  a  farewell  meeting,  that  gathering  of  ours 
Around  the  last  mile-stone,  all  blooming  with  flowers. 
We  tried  to  describe  it;  'twas  sweet  to  us  here, 
But  oh  !  who  can  picture  the  reception  there  ? 

Our  dear  Sister  Gerald,  the  first  of  our  band, 
The  Master  has  called  to  the  heavenly  land. 
For  thee  we'll  not  sorrow,  tho'  the  tears  will  come; 
It  may  be  to-morrow  we'll  meet  thee  at  home. 


104  BIRTHDAY  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

But  we  pray  for  the  mourners — to  her  so  dear — 

For  they'll    miss  her  sweet  smile  in  the  home  down 

here. 

Oh,  comfort  them,  Saviour,  and  lead  them  in  love, 
An  unbroken  circle  to  meet  her  above. 

Farewell,  gentle  sister,  thy  journey  is  o'er, 

Only  a  little  while  passed  on  before. 

We'll  walk  with  thee  soon  on  the  banks  of  the  river, 

And  we'll  ne'er  part  again;  oh  no,  sister,  never ! 


A  TRIBUTE  OF  LOVE. 

To  the  worth  and  graces  of  MRS.  L.  MORALEE,  who  died  December  19,  aged  60  years       From 
the  ladies  of  the  Methodist  Church,  Alameda. 

OUR  sister  has  gone  to  the  land  of  the  blest, 
The  beautiful  land  where  the  weary  shall  rest; 
She  has  gone  from  suffering,  sorrow,  and  care, 
To  the  bosom  of  Him  who  wipes  every  tear. 

She  has  left  us  a  lesson  of  sweet  submission, 
So  patient  and  calm  in  her  long  affliction; 
Without  murmuring  word,  thro'  months  of  decay 
She  quietly  waited  till  summoned  away. 


A  TRIBUTE  OF  LOVE.  105 

To  her  the  dark  river  of  death  had  no  ill, 

For  Jesus  was  there  every  billow  to  still; 

And  fearless  she  crossed  thro'  the  deep  waters'  foam, 

And  entered  in  triumph  the  gateway  of  home. 

What  a  beautiful  sight  was  her  sunset  sky! 
Oh,  what  golden  clouds  passed  refulgently  by, 
As  the  angels  tenderly  carried  her  o'er 
To  the  white-robed  watchers  on  the  other  shore! 

We  miss  her  sweet  face  in  the  house  of  prayer; 
In  our  circle  for  work  there's  a  vacant  chair; 
For  her  dear,  tired  hands  gently  folded  must  lie, 
And  her  poor  weary  feet  are  laid  quietly  by. 

We'll  mourn  not  for  her,  altho'  we  are  weeping, 
Because  she  is  under  the  coffin-lid  sleeping; 
We'll  think  of  her  now  with  the  crown  on  her  brow, 
Arrayed  in  the  robes  that  are  whiter  than  snow. 

O  sister,  dear  sister,  almost  we  can  see 
Through  the  vail  that  hides  us  from  Heaven  and  thee! 
We  hear  thy  sweet  voice  in  that  multitude  throng, 
As  they  sing  in  full  chorus  the  new,  new  song. 

God  comfort  the  mourner  in  the  home  below; 
He's  only  a  little  way  further  to  go 
Ere  he'll  join  her  above  in  Eden's  bowers, 
Amid  evergreen  fields  and  fadeless  flowers. 


106  BIRTHDAY  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

God  bless  her  dear  ones,  and  answer  her  prayer; 
When  he  gathers  his  jewels,  may  they  all  be  there 
To  meet  her  again,  never  more  to  sever, 
An  unbroken  circle  of  love  forever. 

May  our  end  be  like  hers,  our  sunset  as  bright, 
With  the  purple  and  gold  of  Heaven's  own  light; 
Like  her  be  found  ready  when  the  angels  come 
To  bear  us  away  to  the  saints'  happy  home. 

Adieu,  sister  dear,  we  will  meet  thee  on  high 
When  our  own  weary  feet  like  thine  are  laid  by; 
We'll  come  the  sweet  songs  of  the  blessed  to  swell 
'Til  then,  beloved  sister,  we  bid  thee  farewell. 


BIRTHDAY  CELEBRATION. 

To  MRS.   MOSES. 

WE  come  to  greet  you,  sister,  sister  dear, 
On  this  first  day  of  life's  new  year. 
Eighty-three  the  mile-stone  doth  tell, 
Eighty-three  years  of  life  spent  well, 


BIRTHDAY  CELEBRATION.  107 

Eighty-three  years  cheerful  and  bright, 
Crowned  with  white  hairs — a  sacred  sight ! 
A  winter's  eve  of  pleasant  hours, 
A  home  made  sweet  with  fragrant  flowers! 

Eighty-three  years !     How  many  a  thought 
The  day's  return  to  you  hath  brought ! 
Thoughts  of  dear  ones  and  by-gone  years, 
Thoughts  that  are  wet  with  loving  tears, 
Thoughts  of  your  life's  long  busy  day! 
How  short  it  looks  when  passed  away ! 
Thoughts  of  home  in  Heaven  so  fair, 
Thoughts  of  the  rest  that  waits  you  there ! 

Jesus  still  holds  the  dazzling  crown 
We  spoke  of  at  your  eightieth  stone, 
Studded  with  precious  jewels  fair — 
New  gems  are  added  every  year; 
On  you  he  will  that  crown  bestow, 
His  own  hand  place  it  on  your  brow; 
And  with  the  saints  that  overcome, 
You  shall  sit  down   upon  his  throne. 

We  know  not  all  he  has  in  store, 
But  those  he  loves  shall  weep  no  more; 
No  sorrow  storm  shall  heave  the  breast, 
For  all  his  faithful  ones  shall  rest. 


108  BIRTHDAY  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

Oh,  what  a  crowd,  enrobed  in  white, 
Are  watching  for  the  radiant  light 
Of  sunset  clouds  in  your  evening  sky, 
Passing  in  golden  beauty  by! 

Since  last  we  at  a  mile-stone  stood, 
Two  of  our  band  have  crossed  the  flood; 
They've  not  gone  far;  may  we  not  say 
They  look  in  love  on  us  to-clay? 
We  almost  see  the  gates  ajar, 
Left  for  the  next  to  enter  there. 
Soon  the  angels  again  will  come 
Some  weary  feet  to  carry  home. 

God  bless  you,  sister,  all  the  way ; 
Bright  be  the  rest  of  closing  day. 
God  bless  the  dear  ones  here  you  love; 
Bring  them  with  you  to  mansions  above. 
And  when  our  work  on  earth  is  done, 
We'll  pass  the  gate-way  one  by  one, 
And  meet  where  parting's  known  no  more, 
Over  on  the  beautiful  shore. 
Alameda,  March  jo,  1883. 


IN  MEMORIAM. 


A  little  tribute  of  love  from  the  ladies  of  the  M.   E.  Church,  of  Alameda,  to  the  memory  of 
MRS.  N.  MOSES,  who  died  suddenly  April  16,  1883. 

OUR  dear  sister  is  gone;  she  has  bid  us  adieu; 
The  bright,  pearly  gates  she  has  safely  passed  through. 
When  we  parted  we  thought  the  river  was  nigh, 
But  knew  not  we  were  saying  our  last  good-bye. 

How  gently  her  sun  has  gone  down  in  the  sky, 
As  the  golden  clouds  moved  in  their  radiance  by! 
She  was  but  a  step  from  the  beautiful  shore, 
When  the  passing  breeze  wafted  her  quietly  o'er. 

'Twas  a  blessed  death,  and  well  fitting  to  her, 
In  the  midst  of  her  friends,  so  tender  and  dear; 
Her  loving  hands  busy  'til  life's  latest  hours, 
Translated  at  once  to  celestial  bowers. 

We'll  try  not  to  mourn,  but  we  must  drop  the  tear, 
When  we  meet  at  our  work,  o'er  her  vacant  chair. 
Her  dear  hands  are  folded;  her  work  is  all  done, 
Not  one  thing  neglected — no,  no,  there's  not  one! 

We  sat  at  her  eighty-third  mile-stone  awhile— 
How  lovely  she  was,  with  her  sweet,  pleasant  smile! 
'Twas  a  farewell  meeting,  that  gathering  of  love; 
Her  reception  was  waiting  in  mansions  above. 


110  BIRTHDAY  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

Around  her  name  what  fond  memories  cling, 
So  lovingly  'twined  about  everything. 
We  sigh  o'er  her  pew  in  the  house  of  prayer; 
Her  sweet,  sacred  face  seemed  to  hallow  us  there. 

She  is  gone  to  receive  her  beautiful  crown, 

Gone  with  Jesus  to  sit  on  the  golden  throne. 

Ah  yes!  gone  to  the  loved  ones  in  the  white-robed  throng. 

Who  were  watching  her  coming  with  a  welcome  song. 

Farewell,  beloved  sister,  we'll  meet  thee  above, 
In  the  saints'  sweet  home,  in  the  kingdom  of  love. 
Yes;   we'll  meet  up  there  in  the  land  of  the  blest, 
The  beautiful  land  where  the  weary  shall  rest. 


THE  EVENING  OF  LIFE. 

Written  fora  gathering  of  old  ladies,  at  the  house  of  Mrs.  A.  G.  Gilbert,  Alameda. 

WHEN  we've  past  the  mile-stone  of  our  three  score  years, 

How  we  think  of  life's  beaten  track! 
And  we  gaze  through  the  crystal  vail  of  warm  tears 

That  dim  our  eyes  as  we  look  back. 

We  think  of  our  morn,  with  its  spring-tide  flowers, 

Of  our  noon  with  its  busy  cares, 
And  we  feel  how  short  were  the  afternoon  hours, 

As  the  shade  of  the  evening  appears. 


THE  EVENING  OF  LIFE.  Ill 

We  remember  the  days  in  our  childhood's  home, 

In  the  dearly  loved  land  of  our  birth, 
And  the  changes  we've  seen  since  we  left  it  to  roam 

As  pilgrims  and  strangers  on  earth. 

Our  father  and  mother  were  never  so  dear 

In  the  days  of  our  youth  and  prime 
As  when  we  come  down  to  our  evening  year, 

And  look  back  on  the  olden  time. 

The  scenes  of  the  past— how  the  thoughts  of  the  heart 

Will  bring  them  all  back  in  review! 
Old  places,  old  faces — how  they  cause  us  to  start — 

The  loved  of  the  long,  long  ago! 

Oh!  there's  nothing  lost,  nor  thought,  nor  word,  nor  deed, 

But  on  memory's  book  stands  clear; 
And  our  tears  fall  fast  as  the  lines  we  read. 

Ah,  who  could  write  the  pages  there? 

Is  it  done  by  the  hand  that  writes  above 

In  the  books  that  lie  near  the  throne? 
And  is  this  the  record  that  must  stand  approved 

If  we  hear  the  Master's  well  done? 

Oh!  did  we  but  think,  as  we  journey  along, 

That  but  once  we  can  pass  this  way, 
We'd  have  less  to  wish  unsaid  or  undone 

When  we  reach  the  close  of  the  day. 


112  BIRTHDAY  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

How  often  we  wish  we  had  scattered  more  love, 

More  seeds  of  sweet  sympathy  sown; 
We'd  have  gathered  more  grain  for  the  garners  above, 

Had  more  sheaves  for  the  harvest  home. 

We've  sown  sixty,  seventy,  or  eighty  years — 

But  little  more  seed-time  we'll  see. 
Now,  sometimes,  alone  amid  prayers  and  tears, 

We  ask,  What  will  the  harvest  be? 

Oh  Jesus,  we  pray,  from  the  record  in  Heaven 

Blot  all  our  mistakes  out  of  sight. 
Beneath  our  poor  names,  Oh,  write  down  forgiven; 

In  thy  blood  wash  our  garments  white. 

Our  refuge  and  strength  thou  hast  been  all  the  way. 

Our  comfort  'mid  sorrow  and  toil, 
Standing  close  by  our  side  in  every  dark  day, 

And  cheering  our  hearts  by  thy  smile. 

And  now,  when  the  hairs  of  our  heads  are  turned  white, 

And  our  footsteps  are  growing  slow, 
And  deepening  shadows  tell  approaching  night, 

Thou  wilt  not  forsake  us  we  know. 

We  are  sitting  down  now  in  our  evening  shade, 

While  the  past  moves  quietly  by; 
We're  nearing  tHe  Jordan,  but  feel  not  afraid; 

We'll  soon  cross  to  our  rest  on  high. 


OUR  GRAXD  OLD  HYMNS.  113 

There  are  beautiful  groups  close  down  on  the  banks, 

Parents  husbands,  and  children  come. 
And  our  dear  little  babes  in  the  shining  ranks. 

All  waiting  to  welcome  us  home. 

A  little  while  and  our  setting  sun's  last  beam 

Will  be  shading  the  waters  o'er : 
But  our  Saviour  himself  will  bridge  the  deep  stream; 

We'll  step  upon  him  to  the  shore. 


OUR  GRAXD   OLD   HYMNS. 

OH  sing  those  grand  old  hymns  to  me, 
The  hymns    my  grandmother   loved; 

In  the  quiet  eve  the  time  shall  be. 
When  my  heart  is  tenderly  moved. 

I  see  her  now,  with  her  eyes  of  blue, 
And  her  hair  as  white  as  snow. 

Her  large-print  Bible,  and  hymn-book  too, 
As  I  did  in  the  long  ago. 


114  BIRTHDAY  AND  OTHER  POEMS. 

I  can  almost  hear  the  dear  old  voice, 

So  clear,  so  soft,  so  sweet, 
As  she  turned  the  leaves  and  sung  her  choice, 

While  I  sat,  a  child,  at  her  feet. 

"  Guide  me,  O  thou  Great  Jehovah, 

Pilgrim  through  this   barren   land; 
I  am  weak,  but  thou  art  mighty; 
Hold  me  with  thy  powerful  hand. 

Bread  of  Heaven, 
Feed  me  till  I  want  no  more." 

I  remember  now  the  peaceful  brow, 
And  how  fast  the  tear-drops  fell, 

As  she  sang  the  last  verse,  in  cadence  low,. 
Of  the  hymn  she  loved  so  well. 

"  When  I  tread  the  verge  of  Jordan, 

Bid  my  anxious  fear  subside; 
Death  of  death  and  hell's  destruction — 
Land  me  safe  on  Canaan's  side. 

Songs  of  praises 
I  will  ever  give  to  thee." 

My  grandma  dear!     More  than  fifty  years 
She's  been  singing  those  songs  of  praise. 

I'll  hear  her  again  where  there  are  no  tears,. 
When  I  reach  the  end  of  my  days. 


OUR  GRAND  OLD  HYMNS.  115 

They've  put  new  tunes  to  the  dear  old  hymns, 

And  altered  some  verses  I  know; 
But  I  love  them  best  as  we  sang  them  then 

In  the  tunes  of  the  long  ago. 


OUR    GRAND    OLD  HYMNS. 

OH  come,  sing  me  those  grand  old  hymns  agairn 
The  hymns  to  my  mother  so  dear. 

I  shall  hear  her  voice  in  the  sweet  refrain 
As  it  rose  on  my  childhood's  ear. 

"Jesus,  lover  of  my  soul, 

Let  me  to  thy  bosom  fly, 
While  the  nearer  waters  roll, 

While  the  tempest  still  is  high, 
Hide  me,  O  my  Saviour,  hide, 

Till  the  storm  of  life  is  past; 
Safe  into  the  haven  guide; 

Oh,  receive  my  soul  at  last." 

I  sang  that  hymn  as  I  stood  at  her  side, 

All  alone  by  the  Jordan's  stream, 
When  the  angels  came  on  the  swelling  tide 

And  carried  her  over  to   Him. 


116  BIRTHDA  Y  AND  OTHER  POEMS, 

Oh  that  sacred  hour,  in  my  girlhood's  day, 
Stamped  so  deep  on  my  heart  to  lie, 

Though  many  long  years  have  passed  away, 
Is  still  fresh  in  memory's  eye. 

Ah,  the  dear  old  hymns !  They're  my  precious  gems, 

The  treasures  of  earliest  years; 
Set  in  crystal  stones,  are  these  grand  old  hymns, 

All  engraved  with  my  mother's  tears. 

How  oft'  has  my  heart  been  weary  and  sad, 

And  no  cheering  ray  I  could  see, 
When  one  gem  from  my  store  has  made  my  heart  glad, 

'Twas,  "Rock  of  ages  cleft  for  me." 

Again,  when  my  path  has  all  dark  become, 

And  the  world  was  a  winter's  night, 
Another  could  always  dispel  the  gloom, 

"There  is  a  land  of  pure  delight." 

When  care  did  its  worst  my  spirit  to  grieve, 

And  there  seemed  a  deluge  to  fear, 
One  sweet  little  gem  could  ever  relieve, 
"When  I  can  read  my  title  clear." 

These  are  part  of  my  store,  but  I've  some  more 

Down  deep  on  my  heart  engraven; 
They'll  go  with  me  o'er  to  the  shining  shore, 

And  I'll  take  them  up  to  Heaven. 


OUR  GRAND  OLD  HYMNS. 

I  want  you  to  sing  these  grand  old  hymns 
Whenever  you  think  you  can    see 

The  angels  coming  on  their  golden  wings  — 
Ah  yes;  when  they're  comin 


117 


g  for  me. 


Then  treasure  them  up  as  your  priceless  gems, 
That  will  go  with  you  when  you  die; 

We'll  love  the  memory  of  the  dear  old  hymns 
For  aye  in  the  sweet  by  and  by. 


SORRO\VS    OK    THE     HEART. 


TRI  BUTARY. 


SORROWS  OF  THE  HEART. 


HE  wise  man  has  made  it  proverbial  that  by  sorrow  of 
the  heart  the  spirit  is  broken,  and  in  this  changing 
world  none  are  exempt  from  sorrow. 
There  are  sorrow's  because  of  personal  trials  and  afflic 
tions.  Job  says,  "I  will  speak  in  the  anguish  of  my  spirit,  I 
will  complain  in  the  bitterness  of  my  soul."  "David 
watered  his  couch  with  his  tears."  Hezekiah  "wept  sore." 
Our  Saviour  himself  was  "a  man  of  sorrows  and  ac 
quainted  with  grief." 

There  are  sorrows  of  separation  when  we  bid  adieu  to 
dear  ones,  expecting  to  see  their  faces  no  more.  Oh, 
how  we  linger  over  the  last  good-bye,  and  in  after  years 
how  our  thoughts  turn  back  to  these  sad  farewells,  and 
sighs  will  rise,  and  tears  will  fall ! 

There  are  sorrows  of  sympathy,  blessed  sympathy.     We 

weep  with  those  who  weep.     Oh,  what  a  world  this  would 

be  without  sympathy!      Happy  those  whose  hearts  are  full, 

yea,  running  over.     Verily  they  shall  not  lose  their  reward. 

There  are  sorrows  of  disappointment.     We  lay  our  plans, 


122  SORROWS  OF  THE  HEART. 

build  our  airy  castles,  and  feel  confident  of  success  until, 
by  some  sudden  ruin,  we  are  taught  that  "  He  builds  too 
low  who  builds  below  the  skies."  We  pursue  some  imagi 
nary  good  until  we  find  we  are  grasping  at  a  shadow,  or,  if 
we  reach  it,  find  it  is  no  longer  desirable. 

There  are  sorrows  arising  from  circumstances.  "  Riches 
take  to  themselves  wings  and  fly  away."  The  poor  have  a 
hard  time  of  it;  the  rich  have  many  friends. 

There  are  sorrows  of  bereavement  when  death  enters 
our  homes  and  takes  from  our  sight  the  dearest  object  of 
our  affection,  and  we  go  to  the  "grave  to  weep  there."  O 
sorrow,  too  sacred  to  dwell  upon ! 

There  are  sorrows,  too,  caused  often  by  cruel  enemies  or 
deceitful  friends.  Ah!  who  is  there  that  has  not  at  some 
time  or  other  suffered  from  enmity  or  treachery?  Ah  yes! 
"Man  is  born  unto  trouble  as  the  sparks  fly  upward." 
"The  heart  knoweth  its  own  bitterness."  Every  heart  has 
its  own  sorrow,  something  over  which  it  loves  to  brood.  It 
is,  in  fact,  a  property  peculiarly  its  own,  in  which  no 
stranger  can  interfere,  and  for  which  it  will  accept  no  con 
solation.  At  such  times  the  sun  is  no  longer  bright,  the 
fields  green,  nor  the  flowers  beautiful.  The  very  things 
which  might  have  yielded  the  sweetest  pleasure  become 
sources  of  the  bitterest  pain,  "till  by  sorrow  of  the  heart 
the  spirit  is  broken." 

Alas  !    what  should  we  do  in  this  world  of  sin  and  sor- 


SORROWS  OF  THE  HEART.  123 

row  if  it  were  not  for  the  consolations  which  the  religion  of 
Jesus  affords  ?  Apart  from  the  Bible  there  is  no  remedy 
for  sorrow,  no  refuge  from  the  storm,  no  shelter  in  the  hour 
of  calamity,  no  prospect  of  final  deliverance. 

To  the  Christian  it  is  a  comfort  to  reflect  that  God  sends, 
permits,  sanctifies  our  trials.  Even  in  cutting  the  strings 
which  bind  us  to  the  world,  withering  the  gourds  which 
have  afforded  us  a  friendly  shade,  overflowing"  the  structures 
we  have  reared,  and  disappointing  the  hopes  we  have 
cherished,  there  is  kindness.  He  would  wean  us  from  the 
world.  He  would  call  us  from  our  sorrow  and  its  cause. 
He  would  allure  us  to  himself,  that  we  may  prove  him  "the 
God  of  all  consolation."  No  joy  takes  its  flight  from  our 
bosom;  no  sorrow  hovers  over  our  head,  or  settles  on  our 
heart,  but  as  God  directs  or  permits.  And  the  knowledge 
of  the  fact  that  he  is  arranging  and  controlling  all,  is  of 
itself  a  consolation. 

God  knows  exactly  the  trials  we  need,  and  he  regulates 
them  according  to  our  strength.  We  should  seek,  then, 
not  only  composure,  but  submission — not  only  submission, 
but  acquiescence.  Do  not  fret.  He  hath  done  all  things 
well;  he  will  do  all  things  well.  Personal  and  domestic 
sorrow  may  come;  friends  depart;  cherished  hopes  be 
blighted;  loved  ones  die,  while  the  storm  still  threatens 
and  the  skies  grow  darker.  Be  it  so.  God  "  rides  in  the 
whirlwind  and  directs  the  storm,"  or  he  sends  them  before 


124  SORROWS  OF  THE  HEART. 

him  to  prepare  for  the  "  still  small  voice  "  of  comfort  and 
love. 

What  a  blessing  it  is  to  know  that  sorrow  sanctified  by 
religion  will  soon  come  to  an  end.  How  often  has  the 
experience  of  the  Christian  been  similar  to  that  which 
Christ  taught  his  disciples  to  expect:  "  Verily,  verily  I  say 
unto  you,  ye  shall  weep  and  lament,  but  the  world  shall 
rejoice;  and  ye  shall  be  sorrowful,  but  your  sorrow  shall  be 
turned  into  joy." 

Under  the  pressure  of  calamity  it  is  delightful  to  the 
desolate  heart  to  look  to  future  and  final  repose  in  that 
beautiful  world  where  there  shall  be  no  more  suffering.  A 
few  more  rolling  suns,  a  few  more  changing  moons,  a  few 
more  days  of  sadness  and  nights  of  grief,  and  the  mourner's 
tears  shall  be  dried.  Then  shall  ensue  peace  without  dis 
turbance,  rest  without  weariness,  gain  without  loss,  sweet 
without  bitter,  pleasure  without  pain,  joy  without  sorrow, 
life  without  death. 

The  heart  hath  sorrows  of  its  own, 
And  grief  to  other  hearts  unknown; 
But  One  alone  can  it  unseal, 
And  He  the  broken  heart  will  heal. 


HYMN. 

WHEN  storms  are  bursting  o'er  my  head, 
WThen  on  sharp  thorns  my  feet  must  tread, 
When  sorrows  deep  encompass  me, 
And  thro'  the  mist  I  cannot  see, 

Let  me  hide,  oh,  let  me  hide, 
"  Rock  of  ages,"  hide  in  thee  ! 

When  my  heart  is  sad  and  lone, 
When  I  mourn  for  loved  ones  gone, 
When  earthly  comforts  from  me  flee, 
And  all  the  world  is  blank  to  me, 
Let  me  hide,  oh,  let  me  hide, 
"  Rock  of  ages,"  hide  in  thee  ! 

When  I  weep  o'er  cradle  beds, 

When  I  miss  the  little  heads, 

Wh  n  crushed  with  grief  my  soul  must  be, 

And  not  one  friend  can  comfort  me, 

Let  me  hide,  oh,  let  me  hide, 
"  Rock  of  ages,"  hide  in  thee  ! 

When  in  darkest  shades  I  lie, 
When  the  Jordan's  stream  is  nigh, 
When  death's  angel  comes  for  me, 
And  his  cold,  pale  face  I  see, 

Let  me  hide,  oh,  let  me  hide, 
"  Rock  of  ages,"  hide  in  thee  ! 


HYMN. 


O  JESUS,  let  me  to  thee  come, 
While  a  pilgrim  here  I  roam. 
Earthly  pleasures  pass  away; 
Earthly  treasures  will  not  stay. 

Only  thou  my  portion  be; 

Nothing  can  I  hold  but  thee. 

Flowers  o'er  my  pathway  grow, 
Fade  ere  I  their  fragrance  know; 
Plagues  and  woe  around  me  lie; 
Everything  I  love  must  die. 

Only  thou  my  portion  be; 

Nothing  can  I  hold  but  thee. 

Saviour,  I  would  humbly  come; 
Guide  me  to  the  better  home; 
Teach  me  how  I  can  submit, 
Patient  lie  at  thy  dear  feet. 

Only  thou  my  portion  be; 

Nothing  can  I  keep  but  thee. 


DEATH  OF  A  BABE. 

Age,  ten  months. 

FAREWELL,  my  little  tender  flower, 

Nipped  in  thine  opening  bud. 
Thou'rt  gone  to  bloom  in  a  heavenly  bovver 

In  the  paradise  of  God. 

Transplanted  to  a  better  soil, 

A  healthier,  happier  shore, 
No  storms  thy  beauty  can  ever  spoil; 

No  death  shall  destroy  thee  more. 

Sweet  babe,  how  blest  a  lot  is  thine 

Thus  young  from  earth  to  go, 
So  soon  a  star  in  bliss  to  shine, 

Escaped  from  every  woe ! 

Clothed  in  a  robe  of  spotless  white, 

Like  cherub  form  divine, 
No  song  more  sweet,  no  smile  more  bright, 

My  angel  boy,  than  thine. 

Thou'rt  buried  in  a  stranger  land, 

Beneath  a  field  of  snow, 
And  o'er  thy  grave  no  kindred  hand 

Can  plant  a  flower  to  grow. 


128  SORROWS  OF  THE   HEART. 

I  think  that  I  could  better  bear 

To  lose  thy  little  face 
If  I  could  sometimes  drop  a  tear 

On  thy  cold  resting-place. 

But  I  will  yield  thee  up  in  trust 
To  him  who  doth  not  sleep. 

Dear  Father,  watch  the  tiny  dust; 
The  precious  relic  keep. 

And  when  the  trumpet  thro'  the  skies 
Shall  call  us  all  to  stand, 

Oh,  let  my  little  flower  arise 
And  bloom  at  thy  right  hand. 

Then  go,  my  little  darling,  go; 

Sing  to  thy  Saviour's  name. 
Twill  not  be  very  long,  I  know, 

Ere  I  shall  do  the  same. 

By  and  by  I  hope  to  join  thee 

On  that  happy,  blissful  shore, 
Ne'er  again,  dear  boy,  to  leave  thee. 

We  shall  meet  to  part  no  more. 
Canada   West,  1855. 


ACROSTIC. 

To  THEE,  sweetest  babe,  may  rich  blessings  be  given; 
Angels  watch  over  thee,  sent  down  from   Heaven; 
Light  be  thy  sufferings;  joy  thy  presence  attend. 
Innocent  little  one,  God  be  thy  friend. 
Encircled  all  round  by  his  tenderest  care, 
Safe  be  thy  journey,  and  bright  thy  career. 
If  dark  clouds  should  gather,  and  sorrow  storms  fall, 
Never  mind,  little  one,  God  be  thy  all. 

True  it  is  there's  a  world  full  of  trouble  before  thee; 
High  and  rude  blow  the  winds  on  time's  boisterous  sea; 
Oft'  the  path  will  bs  dreary  thro'  which  thou  must  roam. 
My  innocent  little  one,  God  lead  thee  home. 
Ah  yes!  he  will  love  thee,  and  lead  thee  home  too. 
Safe,  little  one,  safe  all  the  wilderness  through. 

Long,  long  be  thy  years,  full  of  peace  and  pros  perity ; 
Even  crowned  with  gray  hairs  may  that  white  forehead  be. 
Virtue  guide  thee  thro'  life;  then  on  Jesus'  soft  breast, 
Innocent  little  one,  God  give  thee  rest. 


DEATH  OF  TALIESIN. 

FAREWELL,  Taliesin,  we  bid  thee  good-bye; 

We  weep,  but  we  will  not  deplore. 
Innocent  little  one,  gone  to  the  sky, 

On  earth  we  behold  thee  no  more. 

4 

How  short  was  thy  journey,  swift  thy  career; 

'Tis  finished  in  childhood's  hours. 
This  wilderness  world  of  sorrow  and  care 

Was  to  thee  a  garden  of  flowers. 

And  thou,  a  fair  bud  of  promise  and  hope, 

The  pride  of  the  circle  at  home, 
Just  nipped  in  thine  opening — only  gone  up 

In  a  healthier  climate  to  bloom. 

Two  years  are  gone  by  since  I  wished  thee  health 
And  happiness,  comfort  and  joy. 

Long  life  and  gray  hairs,  prosperity,  wealth— 
Shall  death  all  these  wishes  destroy? 

Ah  no,  little  darling,  it  cannot  be  so! 

Say,  rather,  that  now  they  are   given, 
For  bliss  in  its  purity  none  can  e'er  know 

'Til  they  enter  the  gate  of  Heaven. 


DEATH  OF  TALIESIN.  131 

Thou  art  gone  ere  sorrow  had  clouded  thy  brow, 
Or  tears  dimm'd  thy  beautiful  eye; 

Ere  trouble  or  care,  disappointment  or  woe, 
Sweet  little  one,  cost  thee  a  sigh. 

Thou  wert  cradled  with  care,  watched  o'er  by  love; 

Every  wish,  every  want  was  supplied. 
From  a  sweet  home  Jesus  took  thee  above, 

An  angel  to  shine  close  to  his  side. 

Eor  thee  we  mourn  not,  but  must  drop  the  tear 
With  the  loved  ones — the  'dear  ones  left; 

For  dismal  and  lonely,  gloomy  and  drear 
Is  that  home  of  thy  prattle  bereft. 

May  He  who  giveth  and   taketh  away, 

To  the  broken   spirit  draw  nigh, 
Apply  the  true  balm,  the  bleeding  wound  stay, 

And  each  bitter  tear  gently  dry. 

And  when  strength  to  the  mourners  too  shall  fail, 

And  each  parent  in  turn  depart, 
Oh!  who  can  describe  what  joy  shall  prevail 

When  they  meet  the  pride  of  their  heart? 

Farewell,  Taliesin,  we  bid  thee  good-bye; 

Recline  now  on  Jesus'  soft  breast; 
Thy  journey  is  o'er;  safe  landed  on  high, 

Dear  little  darling,  sweet  is  thy  rest. 


DEATH  OF  FRANK. 

FAREWELL,  little  Frank,  our  darling  boy; 

Our  hearts  are  sad,  for  thou  \vert  Our  joy; 
But  angels  came  and  carried  thee  home, 

Safe,  safe  away  from  the  evil  to  come. 

We'll  see  thy  smile  on  yon  flowery  plains, 
And  hear  thy  voice  in  the  infant  strains, 

'Mid  all  the  sounds  of  the  multitude  throng, 
Oh !  none  are  so  sweet  as  the  baby's  song. 

Adieu,  beloved  child,  we'll  meet  thee  above, 
In  thy  beautiful  home  of  peace  and  love. 
Thou  art  safe  from  sorrow  and  pain  and  care, 

Our  dear  little  Frank,  thou  shalt  welcome  us  there 
San  Francisco,  July, 


DEATH  OF  A  YOUNG  LADY. 

Aged  eighteen. 

OH,  weep  ye  not  for  the  early  dead, 
But  strew  her  grave  with  flowers ; 

She's  gone  in  fairer  fields  to  tread, 
And  brighter  worlds  than  ours. 

Oh,  weep  ye  not  for  the  early  dead ; 

Fond  mother,  dry  the  tear. 
She's  gone  to  Christ,  her  living  Head, 

In  all  his  bliss  to  share. 

Oh,  weep  ye  not  for  the  early  dead; 

Father,  thy  gentle  dove 
Has  to  her  heavenly  parent  fled, 

To  dwell  with  him  above. 

Why  should  ye  weep?     Ah!  \vliy  indeed? 

Is  it  not  best  to  go 
Ere  sorrow  cause  the  heart  to  bleed, 

And  pleasures  turn  to  woe  ? 

Why  should  ye  weep?     She's  happier  far 

In  pure  and  perfect  peace; 
For  earth,  no  matter  where  we  are, 

Is  but  a  wilderness. 


134  SORROWS  OF  THE  HEART. 

Softly  she  leans  on  Jesus'  breast, 
Where  sorrow  cannot  come. 

She's  not  a  stranger,  or  a  guest, 
But  a  sweet  child  at  home. 

She'll  never  heave  the  pensive  sigh, 
Or  shed  the  scalding  tear; 

She'll  never  view  a  darkened  sky, 
Nor  angry  tempest  fear. 

She'll  never  be  a  wife  of  care, 
Or  weep  o'er  infant's  tomb; 

But  ever  round  her  brow,  so  fair, 
Heaven's  bridal  wreath  shall  bloom, 

Then  weep  ye  not  for  the  early  dead; 

Go,  plant  the  prettiest  flower; 
Let  evergreens  grow  at  her  head, 

And  make  her  grave  a  bower. 

* 

But  yew  and  cypress  keep  away ; 

No  gloomy  shade  should  rest 
O'er  those  who  rise  to  endless  day, 

The  young,  the  lovely  blest. 

Dear  girl,  a  cloud  of  deep  distress 
Has  saddened  every  day; 

But  thoughts  of  thine  unsullied  bliss 
Shall  chase  that  cloud  away. 


DEATH  OF  A  FRIEND.  135 

And|if  we  weep  for  the  early  dead, 

Twill  only  be  tears  of  love; 
And^whene'er  we  look  on  thy  quiet  bed, 

We'll  pray  to  meet  above. 


DEATH  OF  A  FRIEND. 

FAREWELL,  happy  spirit, 

We  bid  thee  good-bye ; 
Thou'rt  gone  to  inherit 

A  mansion  on  high. 
Thou  art  gone  from  disease, 

From  sorrow  and  care, 
To  a  sweet  home  of  peace, 

To  dwell  ever  there. 

Bring  thee  back  we  would  not, 

From  joys  so  divine. 
At  so  blessed  a  lot 

Twere  wrong  to  repine. 
But  we  must  shed  the  tear 

With  those  thou  hast  left, 
For  the  little  ones  dear 

Of  a  mother  bereft. 


136  SORROWS  OF  THE  HEART. 

Ah  yes!  for  they'll  miss  thee 

As  onward   they  rove. 
All  the  world  is  lonely 

Without  thy  fond  love, 
And  home  will  be  dreary 

Deprived  of  thy  smile, 
And  life  will  be  weary 

And  sad  for  a  while. 

But  the  first  wild  throb  over, 

And  hushed  the  first  grief, 
Faith  a  light  will  discover— 

Hope  yield  a  relief. 
And  a  beautiful  vision 

Shall  stand  to  their  view 
Of  that  great  transition 

That  thou  hast  gone  through. 

They  see  bright  wings  flutter, 

Kind  care  to  afford: 
They  hear  voices  utter, 

"She  died  in  the  Lord." 
By  Jesus  commended, 

They  hear  the  well  done; 
Thy  labors  are  ended ; 

Thy  rest  has  begun. 


DEATH  OF  A  FRIEND.  137 

And  those  sweet  sounds  shall  rise 

On  the  sorrowing  ear, 
And  that  view  of  the  skies 

The  mourner  shall  cheer; 
And  tho'  home  is  bereft, 

The  mind  shall  be  calm, 
For  the  loved  ones  are  left 

A  soul-healing  balm. 

May  people  and  pastor, 

And  all  thou  did'st  love, 
At  the  feet  of  the  Master 

Safe  meet  thee  above; 
Be  by  angels  too  led 

To  hear  the  same  word, 
And  find,  blest  are  the  dead 

Who  die  in  the  Lord. 

Then  adieu,  gentle  spirit, 

We  bid  thee  good-bye. 
Yes;  go  and  inherit 

A  mansion  on  high, 
And  erelong  wre  will  come, 

Forever  to  dwell 
In  the  same  peaceful  home. 

Dear  sister,  farewell. 
1856. 


10 


DEATH  OF  ELIZA. 

Aged  ten  years. 

SHE  is  gone,  she  is  gone, 

Our  darling  is  gone; 
She  has  left  this  vain  world 

For  a  happier  one. 
She  is  gone  from  disease, 

From  weakness  and  fear, 
To  a  sweet  home  of  peace 

To  dwell  ever  there. 

Serene  in  her  slumber, 

Pillowed  she  lay — 
The  angels  came  for  her 

And  bore  her  away. 
Thus  peacefully  passed 

Our  darling  from  sight, 
To  the  home  of  the  blest, 

The  land  of  delight. 

We  sigh  in  deep  anguish; 

Our  tears  trickle  fast. 
Ah  !    why  did  she  languish 

And  leave  us  at  last  ? 


DEATH  OF  ELIZA.  139 

We  know  she  is  better 

In  blissful  employ, 
But  we  would  have  kept  her, 

Our  heart's  dearest  joy. 

We  will  try  not  to  mourn; 

She  is  happier  far. 
Tho'  she  will  not  return, 

We'll  soon  go  to  her. 
We  have  laid  her  below 

In  the  cold,  dark  tomb, 
And  now,  then,  it  must  do 

To  meet  her  at  home. 

We'll  think  of  her  only 

White  robed  above; 
She  is  singing  a  holy, 

A  sweet  song  of  love; 
There's  a  bright  golden  harp 

Within  her  hand  now, 
And  a  beautiful  crown 

On  her  fair  white  brow, 

And  that  radiant  smile 

She  ever  shall  wear — 
Could  we  see  her  awhile 

We'd  not  bring  her  here. 


140  SORROWS  OF  THE  HEART. 

Oh  no;  we'd  ne'er  wish 
To  take  her  away  ! 

In  that  glorious  place 
We'd  like  her  to  stay. 

Thousands  of  little  buds 

Daily  move  up  there, 
Too  fair  for  earthly  fields, 

Plants  of  beauty  rare. 
Jesus,  the  choice  one  sees, 

Marks  it  for  his  own, 
Then  bids  the  passing  breeze 

Waft  it  safely  home. 


FAREWELL  TO  CHARLIE. 

Brother  of  ELIZA — aged  six  years. 

FAREWELL,  little  Charlie, 

Our  dear  little  Charlie, 
Gone  away  from  our  home,  and  out  of  our  sight. 

Oh  how  sadly  we'll  miss 

Thy  fond  loving  kiss, 
When  the  dear  ones  at  evening  bid  us  good-night! 

'Tis  well,  little  flower, 

Gone  up  to  a  bovver, 
A  beautiful  bower  in  the  kingdom  of  love. 

Jesus  saw  thee  too  fair 

To  bloom  longer  here, 
And  transplanted  thee  safe  to  his  garden  above. 

The  angels  !  the  angels  ! . 

Our  darling  saw  angels  ! 
And  one  bright  little  cherub  pushed  all  others  by. 

She  came  there,  fond  mother, 

To  take  her  dear  brother 
To  the  family  mansion  you  have  up  on  high. 


142  SORROWS  OF  THE  HEART. 

O  Saviour,  ever  kind, 

Our  broken  spirits  bind. 
All  bleeding  and  crushed  at  thy  footstool  we  lie; 

Our  tears  we  must  shed 

For  our  early  dead, 
And  there's  no  hand  but  thine  the  sad  drops  can  dry. 

But  why  do  we  sorrow  ? 

We'll  meet  them  to-morrow; 
We  have  only  a  little  while  longer  to  wait. 

We'll  go,  one  by  one, 

Until  all  are  gone— 
And  the  loved  gone  before  will  keep  watch  at  the  gate. 

Farewell,  little  Charlie, 

Our  dear  little  Charlie, 
'Till  our  turn  to  cross  over  the  river  shall  come. 

Oh  then  on  the  billow, 

Come  to  our  pillow— 

Ah  yes  !  come,  little  darling,  to  welcome  us  home. 
1866.  ' 


DEATH  OF  MAMIE. 

Little  MAMIE  of  Fruit  Vale,  died  1868. 

FAREWELL,  little  Mamie.     Ah,  what  can  we  say? 
Cruel  death,  he  has  takgn  our  darling  away, 
One  dear  little  face  from  the  family  throng, 
And  one  sweet  little  voice  from  the  children's  song. 

Our  little  dear  Mamie,  she  has  gone  to  that  shore 
Where  she  said  she  would  never  be  sick  any  more. 
Ah,  how  little  we  thought  the  pale  messenger  near 
Commissioned  to  carry  our  loved  one  up  there! 

There's  one  less  in  the  circle  so  dear  to  our  heart, 
The  little  twin  circle — with  one  we  must  part. 
There's  a  void  in  the  household,  and  long  we  shall  miss 
The  bright  little  smile,  and  the  fond,  loving  kiss. 

But  oh,  there's  one  more  in  that  beautiful  group 
Of  golden-winged  cherubs,  could  we  but  look  up 
Thro'  the  thick  crystal  veil  of  our  fast  flowing  tears 
To  the  spot  where  our  darling  in  radiance  appears. 

White-robed  little  songsters,  hark !  hark !  how  they  sing; 
With  glad  hallelujah's  they  make  Heaven  ring. 
There's  no  musical  strains  in  that  beautiful  land 
Half  so  sweet  as  the  notes  of  that  innocent  band. 


144  SORROWS  OF  THE  HEART. 

Adieu,  little  Mamie,  dear  one  gone  out  of  sight; 
We  will  come  to  thee  soon  in  that  world  so  bright. 
Watch  for  us,  darling,  one  by  one  as  we  come. 
We  may  not  be  fan  from  thy  sweet,  happy  home. 

Oh  that  Jesus,  the  Master,  may  help  us  to  say, 

The  Lord  he  has  given  and  taken  away. 

We  would  bless  his  dear  name,  he  has  smote  us  in  love, 

And  pray  him  to  guide  us  to  meet  her  above. 


DEATH  OF  A  MOTHER. 

OUR  sister  has  gone  to  the  land  of  the  blest, 
The  beautiful  land  where  the  saints  are  at  rest. 
Her  sun  has  gone  down  ere  it  reached  its  noon, 
But  she  fought  a  good  fight,  and  won  victory  soon. 

Oh  how  hard  'twould  have  been  from  loved  ones  to  part, 
And  the  dear  little  babes  so  'twined  round  her  heart. 
From  husband  beloved,  and  fond  parents  so  dear. 
From  brother  and  sister,  sweet  companions  here, 

Had  not  Jesus  stepped  over  the  heart's  troubled  sea, 
And  whispered  so  sweetly,  Leave  them  all  to  me. 
She  knew  she  could  trust  him,  for  he  was  her  rock, 
And  her  little  darlings  were  lambs  of  his  flock. 

She  sang  of  the  rock  that  was  rifted  for  her; 
She  reached  one  of  its  clefts  and  hid  herself  there, 
While  he  made  all  his  love  and  glory  pass  by, 
And  gave  her  a  view  of  the  mansions  on  high. 

She  beheld  the  redeemed  in  the  white-robed  throng 
Preparing  to  greet  her  with  a  welcome  song. 
They  wafted  sweet  music  over  Jordan's  tide. 
Oh,  what  a  reception!  with  rapture  she  cried. 


146  SORROWS  OF  THE  HEART. 

Dear  friends  of  the  loved  one,  oh  mourn  not  for  her, 

But  think  of  her  swelling  the  chorus  up  there 

Of  that  beautiful  song  which  only  those  sing 

Who  wash  their  robes  white  in  the  blood  of  the  King. 

But  she  will  not  forget  her  dear  ones  below. 
Ah  no!  she'll  be  near  them  wherever  they  go; 
O'er  the  two  little  heads  on  their  pillow  she'll  bend, 
And  with  mother's  fond  love  will  their  pathway  attend. 

O  beautiful  truth!  death  does  not  dissever 
The  soft  cord  of  love  that  binds  us  together. 
Love  strengthens  and  grows  thro'  eternity's  years, 
And  the  thoughts  of  such  bliss  our  pilgrimage  cheers. 

Our  sister's  not  dead,  tho'  she  sleeps  in  the  tomb, 
And  over  her  head  the  sweet  flowers  shall  bloom; 
She  has  gone  to  repose  on  the  evergreen  hills, 
And  to  drink  of  the  streams  of  the  crystal  rills. 

Bring  her  back  we  would  not  from  those  Eden  bowers, 
To  suffering  and  care  in  this  world  of  ours. 
Ah  no!  sweet  sister,  it  is  well,  it  is  well. 
We  bow  with  submission,  and  bid  thee  farewell. 
March,  1882. 


BABY'S  DEATH. 

I'VE  seen  an  infant  die — 

Dear  little  one! 

Closed  its  once  sparkling  eye — 
Sweet  little  one! 

How  peacefully  he'll  lie- 
Calm  little  one! 

He  never  more  will  cry- 
Loved  little  one ! 

Nor  heave  the  sad,  sad  sigh — 
Blest  little  one! 

No  danger  e'er'll  be  nigh 

Thee,  little  one  ! 

In  yonder  world  on  high 

Safe,  little  one! 

A  star  above  the  sky 

Shine,  little  one! 

With  cherub  bands  now  fly- 
Fair  little  one! 

To  meet  thee  I  will  try — 

Bright  little  one! 

Til  then  farewell,  good-bye— 
My  little  one! 


LINES   FOR  AX    INFANT'S  TOMB-STONE. 

SLEEP,  little  one,  sleep 

Safe,  safe  in  the  fold. 
Shine,  little  one,  shine 

Brighter  than  gold. 
Sing,  little  one,  sing 

On  thy  Saviour's  breast; 
Sing  -praises  to  his  name 

Who  brought  thee  to  rest. 


How  blest  is  thy  lot, 
Where  sorrow  comes  not 

So  early  to  dwell! 
How  sweet  is  thy  rest 
On  Jesus'  soft  breast! 

Little  darling,  farewell. 


A    BEREAVED    MOTHER. 

I   SAW  a  mother  prostrate  in  tears, 

Ah  !   I  knew  why— 
Her  darling  child,  hope  of  future  years, 

Laid  down  to  die. 

Oh!  let  her  weep;  'twill  ease  her  poor  heart. 

»Chide  her  not  so. 
Tis  hard  with  little  treasures  to  part 

All  mothers  know. 

Weep,  mother,  weep;  God  will  not  chide; 

He  knows   thy  grief. 
Lie  at  his  feet;  in  his  love  confide; 

He'll  give  relief. 

And  when  the  first  throb  is  hush'd  and  gone, 

Then,  then  look  up. 
Thy  flower  is  blooming  by  his  throne — 

O  precious  hope! 

Think  of  him  now  in  that  garden  fair 

With  a  cherub  band; 
Live  to  meet  him  again  over  there 

In  the  better  land. 


THE    BRIDE. 

I  SAW  her  in  her  bridal  dress, 

Her  golden  ringlet  hair; 
And  in  each  soft  and  silken  tress 

I   placed  a  flow'ret  fair. 

I  'twined  for  her  a  bridal  wreath, 

And  placed  it  on  her  browf 
I  kissed  the  blooming  cheek  beneath, 

The  rosy  lips  below. 

I  saw  her  to  the  altar  led 

By  him  who  won  her  heart; 
I  stood  beside  her  while  she  said, 

Til  death  us  two  shall  part. 

I  pressed  her  to  my  heart  of  love  ; 

I  dropt  the  parting  tear, 
As  from  my  sight  I  saw  her  move, 

Another's  lot  to  share. 

I  watched  the  boat  steam  from  the  shore, 
Where  many  an  hour  we'd  spent; 

But  thought  not  I  should  never  more 
Walk  with  my  lovely  friend. 


THE  BRIDE.  151 

In  six  short  weeks  our  darling  one 

Was  brought  us  home  again, 
To  lay  her  in  the  lowly  tomb; 

And  all  our  tears  were  vain. 

We  robed  her  in  her  bridal  dress; 

We  curled  her  golden  hair, 
And  in  each  soft  and  silken  tress 

We  placed  a  rose  so  fair. 

We  kissed  again  the  lovely  cheek, 

Now  marble  cold  and  pale; 
And  one  stood  by  who  could  not  speak 

His  sad  and  bitter  tale. 

We  laid  her  in  her  silent  bed, 

Beneath  the  ground  so  low, 
And  planted  at  her  feet  and  head 

Her  favorite  flowers  to  grow. 

Sweet  girl,  we  mourn  thine  early  doom, 

But  know  thou'rt  safe  above; 
And  'round  thy  beauteous  head  shall  bloom 

Heaven's  bridal  wreath  of  love. 


MISCELLANEOUS. 


r- 


THE  HOUSE  OF  GOD. 


LOVE  the  house  of  God 

Wherever  it  doth  stand- 
in  city  street,  or  country  road, 

Native  or  foreign  land. 
I  love  the  house  of  God 

Whate'er  its  walls  may  be — 
Of  marble,  stone,  of  brick  or  wood — 

'Tis  all  the  same  to  me. 

I'd  see  it  not  too  good 

If  it  were  made  of  gold, 
If  in  full  splendor  now  it  stood, 

Like  Solomon's  of  old. 
I  like  to  hear  the  bell 

Sound  from  a  lofty  tower. 
I  like  the  deep-toned  organ's  swell— 

The  Sabbath's  peaceful  hour. 

I  love  the  house  of  God; 

I'd  like  to  see  it  full 
Of  rich  and  great,  of  wise  and  good, 

The  bright,  the  beautiful. 


156  MISCELLANEOUS. 

I  like  the  word  proclaimed, 
From  off  the  sacred  stand, 

By  learned  men  for  talent  famed, 
The  wisest  in  the  land. 

'Tis  right  it  should  be  so. 

Our  brightest  glory's  dim. 
Wealth,  beauty,  talent  He  bestows — 

Then  use  them  all  for  Him. 
Ye  who  have  gold  in  store, 

And  love  your  Saviour's  name, 
Build  more  of  these  upon  your  shore, 

To  celebrate  his  fame. 

I  love  the  house  of  God 

That  stands  in  olden  style, 
And  old-style  sermons,  plain,  good  food, 

To  crowds  in  every  aisle. 
Love  too  the  good  old  songs 

And  hymns,  almost  divine, 
Sung  out  by  congregated  tongues; 

All  in  full  chorus  join. 

I  love  to  hear  the  word 
Preached  with  fervent  zeal 

By  humble  men  who  love  their  Lord 
And  do  their  Master's  will. 


THE  HOUSE  OF  GOD.  157 

I  love  to  see  men  bow 

Around  the  altar  full, 
And  while  contrition's  tear-drops  flow 

Seek  mercy  for  their  soul. 

I  love  the  house  of  God 

In  alley,  court,  or  lane, 
Where  want  and  toil  has  its  abode, 

And  sin  and  sorrow  reign. 
Young  men,  go  work  therein; 

Seek  for  the  outcast  poor; 
Go  tell  them  Jesus  saves  from  sin, 

And  your  reward  is  sure. 

I  love  the  house  of  God 

O'er  hill  and  valley  seen, 
In  public  walks,  or  private  road, 

Or  on  the  village  green. 
I  love  it  in  the  field, 

Amid  the  birds  and  flowers ; 
It  doth  to  me  a  foretaste  yield 

Of  Eden's  happy  bowers. 

I  love  the  house  of  God 

Out  in  the  forest  wild, 
A  little  shanty  made  of  wood 

By  some  lone  wandering  child. 


158  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Some  Jacob  far  from  home, 
And  dear  ones  forced  to  part, 

Finds  here  a  ladder — angels  come 
To  cheer  his  lonely  heart. 

I  love  the  house  of  God, 

And  to  it  oft  repair. 
What  could  I  do  in  life's  rough  road 

Without  the  place  of  prayer  ? 
How  good  along  the  way-side 

Her  quiet  walls  to  me; 
It  helps  to  still  the  stormy  tide 

Of  time's  eventful  sea. 

I  love  thy  house,  O  God  ! 

Thy  temple,  oh,  how  fair  ! 
In  city  street,  or  country  road — 

I  love  it  everywhere. 
And  when  from  earth  I  move 

Safe  across  the  river, 
Dear  Father,  to  thy  house  above 

Take  me  to  dwell  forever. 


THE    LADIES'    TEMPERANCE  CRUSADE. 

[1874-1 

GOD  speed  the  movement!   Dear  sisters,  all  hail. 
You  have  the  weapons  that  never  can  fail. 
Bomb-shells  and  brick-bats  at  you  may  be  hurl'd, 
But  you're  moving  the  arm  that  moves  the  world. 
Pray  on,  work  on,  and  oh,  weary  not  now, 
Til  these  dens  of  vice  have  had  their  death  blow; 
But  go  on  increasing  from  shore  to  shore 
Til  drinking  saloons  shall  be  known  no  more. 

Mothers,  come  to  the  ranks;  save  your  dear  boys, 
The  light  of  your  home,  and  your  dearest  joys. 
Ah!  many  as  bright,  as  handsome,  as  brave 
Have  been  laid  away  in  a  drunkard's  grave. 
Thousands  more  dying  in  folly  and  sin, 
Their  senses  wash'd  out  in  brandy  and  gin. 
Haste  to  the  rescue,  nor  give  the  work  o'er 
Til  drinking  saloons  shall  be  known  no  more. 

Think,  mothers,  think  of  your  beautiful  girls, 
With  their  blooming  cheeks  and  their  ringlet  curls; 
Loved  and  lovely,  would  you  have  them  become 
Heart-broken  and  poor  in  a  drunkard's  home  ? 


160  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Yet  many  as  tenderly  loved  as  they 
Lie  bleeding  and  crush'd  in  such  homes  to-day. 
Then  haste  to  the  rescue;  give  it  not  o'er 
'Til  drinking  saloons  shall  be  known  no  more. 

Oh!  there's  tears  and  blood  crying  to  Heaven, 

Agonized  prayers  from  sad  hearts  riven, 

Weeping  in  cottages,  mansions,  and  halls, 

From  the  prisoner's  cell  to  palace  walls. 

God  pity  the  drunkard  with  wasted  life, 

His  famishing  babes  and  his  weeping  wife. 

His  sun  may  go  down  before  it  is  noon 

In  crime  and  bloodshed,  through  the  drinking  saloon. 

Oh!  how  can  men  live  on  traffic  like  this— 
Tears  of  widows,  orphans,  babes  in  distress. 
While  want  and  disgrace  is  the  drunkard's  doom, 
They  live  on  his  life-blood  and  rich  become. 
When  judgment  is  set,  and  the  books  appear, 
And  their  victim's  names  shall  sound  in  their  ear, 
Ah,  how  they'll  wish  in  the  light  of  that  noon 
They  never  had  kept  a  drinking  saloon! 

God  speed  the  movement!  Dear  sisters,  go  on, 
And  stop  not  to  rest  'til  the  work  be  done; 
Bind  up  the  wounds  of  the  broken-hearted 
From  whom  the  joys  of  life  are  departed; 


TOBACCO.  161 

Once  pure  and  happy  and  bright  as  the  noon, 
Their  sorrows  come  from  the  drinking  saloon. 
Oh!  go  on  increasing  from  shore  to  shore 
'Til  these  dens  of  vice  shall  exist  no  more. 


TOBACCO. 

OF  all  the  sore  evils  done  under  the  sun 
The  use  of  tobacco  most  surely  is  one, 
And  one  of  the  worst  to  get  rid  of,  I'm  sure. 
Would  that  some  one  could  find  a  radical  cure. 

See,  grandpapa  smokes  in  his  easy  arm-chair, 
And  papa  on  the  sofa  enjoys  his  cigar; 
Soon  ten-year-old   Harry  learns  how  to  begin 
To  imitate  both  in  their  favorite  sin. 

Magistrates,  counselors,  lawyers,  defendants, 
Witnesses,  juries,  policemen,  attendants, 
Swindlers,  murderers,  and  thieves — indeed  'tis   no  joke, 
All  are  more  or  less  slaves  to  the  pleasures  of  smoke. 


162  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Generals  and  officers,  sergeants  and  men, 
Captains,  crews,  and  passengers,  nine  out  of  ten — 
All  smoke,  young  and  old,  men  of  every  nation, 
All  creeds  and  professions,  office,  and  station. 

The  wealthy  man  smokes  in  his  mansion  of  style, 
And  the  humble  and  poor  in  their  homes  of  toil. 
Then  the  merchant,  he  smokes,  and  so  does  his  clerk, 
The  men  who  do  nothing,  and  men  of  hard  work. 

The  great  orator  smokes  as  he  studies  his  speech, 
And  the  clergyman  smokes  before  he  can  preach; 
Our  church  members  smoke — alas!  some  of  them  chew; 
If  you  ask  the  good  sexton,  he'll  show  you  their  pew. 

Our  pulpits,  our  parlors,  our  courts,  and  our  halls, 
Our   prayer-rooms  and  churches,  dear  hallow'd  walls, — 
All,  all  are  polluted  with  this  noxious  weed. 
Oh!  when  shall  the  world  from  the  nuisance  be  freed? 

I'll  say  nothing  of  bar-rooms,  operas,  or  plays, 
Of  billiard  saloons,  of  the  streets  and  highways, 
Of  idlers  and  drunkards — who  of  course  approve  it— 
But  why  should  a  Christian  gentleman  love  it? 

Does  it  give  to  the  cheek  a  bright  glow  of  health? 
Does  it  fill  up  the  pockets  with  needful  wealth? 
Does  it  give  to  the  person  an  air  more  refined, 
Or  in  any  way  tend  to  improvement  of  mind? 


TOBACCO.  163 

To  all  of  these  questions  you   must  reply,  No! 
Then  why  do  you  love  to  indulge  in  it  so? 
A  Christian  in  all  things  should  aim  to  be  pure, 
But  tobacco's  no  help  to  holiness,  sure. 

I  beg  to  propose  that  young  ladies  combine 

In  one  grand  opposition  movement  to  join; 

That  they  sign  a  pledge,  and  henceforward  declare 

That  no  man  who  smokes  shall  their  company  share — 

Resolv'd  that  wherever  invited  to  go, 

If  they  use  tobacco,  to  firmly  say,  No! 

That  you'll  not  walk  to  church,  nor  sit  in  the  pew 

With  a  man  whom  you  know  will  drink,  smoke,  or  chew. 

Dear  girls,  don't  be  frightened,  but  keep  to  your  text, 
And  though  for  a  time  the  beaux  may  be  vexed, 
We  shall  see  in  these  days  a  great  reformation, 
And  tobacco  will  die  in  the  next  generation. 


THE  PAST. 

THE  past,  the  bright,  the  cheerful  past! 

As  memory  cons  it  o'er, 
We  weep  for  days  that  could  not  last, 

Gone  to  return  no  more. 

The  past,  the  sad,  the  gloomy  past, 
The  hours  of  grief  and  care! 

Our  happy  days  fly  all  too  fast, 
But  these  are  long  and  drear. 

The  past!    Ah,  how  many  a  page 
Has  sorrow  wrote  for  years ! 

Our  childhood,  youth,  and  riper  age 
Are  blotted  o'er  with  tears. 

The  past!     Oh,  how  often  we  say, 

Could  we  but  call  it  back, 
And  tread  again  life's  stormy  way, 

We'd  take  another  track. 

The  past!     Oh,  how  many  a  step 
We  now  would  save  our  feet! 

Those  steps  to  airy  structures  steep, 
That  fell  before  complete. 


THE  PAST.  165 

The  past!     Oh,  how  many  a  word 

We  now  would  leave  unsaid ! 
Those  hasty  words  that  cut  love's  cord 

And  leave  the  spirit  dead. 

The  past !     Oh,  how  many  a  deed 

We  now  would  leave  undone! 
Those  thoughtless  deeds  that  make  hearts  bleed 

And  leave  them  cold  and  lone. 

The  past!     Ah,  how  many  a  cup 

We've  drank  of  bitter  woe, 
Not  knowing  that  we  mixed  it  up — 

Alas!  we  know  it  now. 

The  past!     Oh,  let  us  not  forget 

That  tho'  the  time  has  gone 
We  have  to  meet  the  record  yet 

Before  the  great  white  throne. 

The  past!     Oh,  our  Father  forgive; 

Our  mistakes  blot  out  in  love; 
And  when  this  world  of  toil  we  leave, 

Take  us  to  rest  above. 


EVERY-  DAY  SCENES. 

MAN  is  born  unto  trouble,  no  matter  what 

His  rank  or  dwelling,  be  it  palace  or  cot; 

He  may  live  on  the  wealth  his  forefathers  piled, 

Or  eat  bread  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow  from  a  child 

And  elegant  ladies  in  costly  array 

Must  weep  like  the  woman  who  sews  by  the  day. 

i 
Ah  yes!  every  heart  has  its  burden  to  bear, 

And  sorrows  sometimes  too  deep  for  a  tear. 
True,  we  hide  them  'neath  daily  duties  and  toils, 
And  cover  them  over  with  beautiful  smiles ; 
But  still  they  remain  all  engraved  on  the  breast 
'Til  we  cross  to  the  land  of  eternal  rest. 

Look  at  yonder  poor  man  in  the  public  street — 
He's  shabbily  clothed  from  his  head  to  his  feet. 
See  how  rudely  he's  pushed  by  the. busy  throng — 
Cold  looks  and  gruff  words  as  he  passes  along. 
'Tis  an  unemployed  stranger,  weary  and  pale, 
But  the  crowd  does  not  heed  his  pitiful  tale. 


E  VER  Y-DA  Y  SCENES.  167 

There's  another  approaching  well  drest  and  erect — 
No  elbowing  now;  they  make  way  with  respect. 
He's  a  wealthy  man;  yes,  a  great  millionaire — 
But  oh  envy  him  not,  poor  pilgrim  of  care! 
A  magnificent  tree,  well  laden  with  fruit, 
But  a  canker-worm  gnaws  unseen  at  the  root. 

And  now  comes  a  woman  with  hurrying  tread — 
She's  been  toiling  all  day  with  an  aching  head. 
There  are  little  ones  home,  a  bright  little  brood  ;- 
She  has  left  them  in  tears — they  are  crying  for  food. 
Small  pay  for  her  work  is  grumblingly  given— 
None  see  her  weep  but  the  Father  in  Heaven. 

Just  by  walks  a  lady  superbly  attired— 

Rich  in  beauty  and  grace,  beloved  and  admired. 

Costly  jewels  adorn  her  lily  white  hands, 

And  a  crowd  of  attendants  await  her  commands. 

Glittering  diamonds  sparkle  upon  her  brow, 

But  the  heart  is  bursting  with  anguish  below. 

God  help  the  poor  man  as  he's  elbowed  along, 
Weary,  wayworn,  and  faint,  by  the  thoughtless  throng. 
And  God  help  the  rich  when  the  world  is  a  blank, 
Tho'  his  stores  are  full  and  his  gold  in  the  bank. 
And  may  God  help  us  all — whatever  we  are— 
To  lay  at  his  feet  every  burden  of  care. 


TO  THE  LITTLE  STRANGER. 

WELCOME,  welcome  little  stranger, 
Sweetest  of  earthly  flowers, 

Safe  arrived,  and  free  from  danger- 
Welcome  to  these  hearts  of  ours. 

Yes,  welcome  to  our  warmest  love, 

Little  darling  baby  boy ; 
Well-spring  of  pleasure  thou  wilt  prove, 

Father's  hope  and  mother's  joy. 

Lonely  and  dull  this  earth  would  be, 
What  a  sad  and  dreary  place, 

If  little  loved  ones  such  as  thee 
Came  not  here  our  hearts  to  bless. 

Tis  true  that  care  as  well  doth  come, 
And  our  hands  must  harder  toil ; 

But  yet  it  is  a  cheerless  home 
Where  there  is  no  infant's  smile. 

Angels,  hovering  o'er  thy  pillow, 
Guard  thee  as  a  precious  gem, 

WThile  o'er  every  rising  billow 
Shines  the  star  of  Bethlehem. 

Jesus  bless  the  little  stranger, 
And  strew  his  path  with  flowers, 

Save  from  sorrow,  shield  from  danger, 
Bless  him  in  this  world  of  ours. 


FLIRTATION, 

THE  hand  that  plucks  a  lovely  flower, 

Fresh  as  the  morn  of  May, 
Wears  it  upon  his  breast  an  hour, 

Then  throws  it  far  away, 

May  find  that  it  has  left  a  thorn 

Which  he  can  ne'er  extract, 
When  that  forgotten  flower  is  borne 

Far  from  his  thoughtless  track. 

Dear  Lillie  was  the  sweetest  flower 
That  e'er  on  earth  could  bloom. 

Fit  to  adorn  the  loveliest  bower 
That  man  can  call  his  home. 

There  came  a  man,  a  Christian  man, 

Of  stern  integrity, 
And  in  the  church  no  other  man 

Was  thought  so  good  as  he. 

He  'twined  around  her  fresh  young  heart, 

He  tied  the  lover's  knot, 
Then  coolly  cut  the  cords  apart, 

And  all  his  vows  forgot. 
12 


170  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Ah  !  then  her  tender  soul  was  crush'd, 
Tho'  not  a  word  she  spoke; 

And  soon  the  gentle  voice  was  hush'd— 
Poor  Lillie's  heart  was  broke. 

The  angels  came  and  took  her  home 

To  Heaven's  quiet  rest, 
Where  hypocrite  can  never  come 

To  wound  her  peaceful  breast. 

Oh  call  not  him  a  Christian  man 
Who  such  a  deed  has  done  ! 

He's  but  a  libel  on  the  name; 
Religion  he  has  none. 

Nor  think  the  deed  may  pass  unknown, 

Or  else  forgotten  lie; 
For  He  who  sits  upon  the  throne 

Won't  pass  the  trifler  by. 

Of  flirting  sinners,  girls,  take  care; 

From  them  your  young  hearts  save. 
Of  flirting  saints  beware  !   beware  ! 

See  Lillie's  lowly  grave. 


TO  MY  FATHER  IN  ENGLAND. 

THOUGH  far  from  my  country,  my  own  native  home 
O'er  the  wide  world  a  stranger,  dear  father,  I  roam, 
Over  mountain  and  valley,  'mid  sunshine  and  snow, 
I  do  not  forget  thee.     Ah  no  !  father,  no. 

I  can  never  forget  thy  kind,  gentle  smile, 
When  thy  moments  of  care  it  was  mine  to  beguile; 
Or  when,  full  of  glee,  I  have  sprang  on  thy  knee 
To  receive  the  fond  kiss  ever  ready  for  me. 

Can  I  ever  forget  thy  dark,  glossy  hair, 
Clustering  in  curls  o'er  thy  forehead  so  fair  ? 
Thy  bright,  loving  eye  e'en  this  moment  I  see, 
Beaming,  just  as  it  always  did,  kindly  on  me. 

Long  years  have  rolled  by  of  sorrow  and  care 
Since  I  lay  on  thy  bosom  in  innocence  there. 
Oh,  those  dear  happy  hours  of  the  long,  long  ago  ! 
Can  I  ever  forget  them?    Ah  no!  father,  no. 

Forget  the  soft  hand  that  wiped  the  first  tear  ? 
Forget  the  kind  voice  that  taught  the  first  prayer  ? 
Forget  those  who  told  me  the  way  I  should  go  ? 
Forget  them?  Ah  never;  no,  never!  oh  no. 


2  MISCELLANEOUS. 

One  dear  honored  parent  has  long  been  at  rest. 
I  shall  meet  with  her  soon  in  the  land  of  the  blest. 
I  have  treasures  in  Heaven,  bright,  spotless,  and  free, 
And  with  her  they  will  give  a  fond  welcome  to  me. 

Oh  write  to  me,  father,  'twill  cheer  my  sad  heart 

To  know  in  thy  love  I  still  share  a  part 

Oh  send  me  a  blessing,  far  over  the  sea, 

For  I  know  thou  hast  blessings,  my  father,  for  me. 

To-day  is  thy  birthday;  thy  thoughts  will  turn  back 
To  the  years  left  behind  upon  life's  beaten  track; 
Thou  wilt  think  of  the  loved  of  the  long,  long  ago— 
Shall  I  be  forgotten  ?    Ah  no  !  father,  no. 

I  have  gazed  on  thy  likeness  'til  tears  trickled  fast, 
And  I  mournfully  sighed  as  I  thought  of  the  past; 
I  have  kissed  the  cold  cheek  and  inanimate  brow— 
I'll  ne'er  see  thee  again,  dearest  father,  I  know. 

God  bless  thee,  my  father,  through  each  future  year; 
May  thine  evening  of  life  prove  cheerful  and  clear; 
And  when  time  shall  have  brought  thy  career  to  its  close, 
Safe,  safe  be  thy  slumber,  and  sweet  thy  repose. 


REMEMBRANCE.  173 

Farewell,  then  farewell;   I  will  meet  thee  above, 
In  a  mansion  of  peace,  a  sweet  home  of  love. 
There's  no  sorrow  or  sighing,  no  sadness  or  woe, 
And  we'll  ne'er  part  again.     Ah  no  !  father,  no. 
Pennsylvania,  February  13,  1857. 


REMEMBRANCE. 

AH  yes!   I  remember 

That  sorrowful  chamber — 
For  that  was  to  me  the  first  chamber  of  death — 

Where  my  own  dear  mother, 

Better  friend  than  all  other, 
Breathed  out  on  my  bosom  her  last  dying  breath. 

Alone  in  that  chamber, 

My  arms  to  sustain  her, 
With  no  eye  but  the  Master's  to  witness  the  scene, 

With  scarcely  a  quiver 

She  stepped  o'er  the  river, 
For  the  cold,  chilly  waters  were  calm  and  serene. 


174  MISCELLANEOUS. 

I  heard  the  wings  flutter 
Of  those  who  came  for  her, 
The  messenger  angel  who  lifted  her  up; 

I  felt  thrown  around  me 

Strong  arms  to  support  me— 
'Twas  the  kind  arms  of  Jesus,  my  soul's  only  prop. 

Not  a  word  could  I  speak, 

Not  a  tear  on  my  cheek, 
For  the  fountains  of  utterance  all  were  too  full ; 

But  at  last  I  wept  freely, 

And  oh,  how  sincerely, 
For  the  floods  of  deep  waters  broke  over  my  soul ! 

I  promised  to  meet  her, 

In  Heaven  to  greet  her, 
And  now,  my  dear  mother,  'twont  be  long  ere  I  come ; 

'Tis  forty  years  to-day 

Since  thou  wert  borne  away. 
I  am  still  on  my  journey,  but  soon  I'll  be  home. 

With  my  little  ones  fair, 

Who  with  thee  will  appear, 
Oh,  what  a  meeting  we  will  have  ov,er  there! 

And  my  loved  ones  below, 

Who  are  all  coming  too, 
To  thy  beautiful  home,  in  thy  bliss  to  share. 


MY  COUNTRY.  175 

Ah  yes !  I  remember 

That  sorrowful  chamber, 
Where  we  stood  all  alone  by  the  Jordan's  cold  sea. 

Long  time  I've  been  roaming, 

But  soon  I  am  coming, 
Coming,  yes  coming,  soon  coming,  dear  mother,  to  thee. 

San  Francisco,  January  28,  i8jj. 


MY  COUNTRY. 

MY  native  land, 

Thy  much  loved  strand, 
Where'er  over  earth  my  footsteps  may  roam, 

To  memory's  eye 

Will  e'er  be  nigh — 
The  pleasant  shores  of  my  once  happy  home. 

I  love  her  hills, 

I  love  her  dales, 
I  love  her  green  fields,  where  the  daises  grow; 

And  oft'  my  mind 

Will  look  behind 
To  the  dear  old  scenes  of  the  long,  long  ago. 


176  MISCELLANEOUS. 

I  haunt  each  room 

Of  childhood's  home, 
Sit  down  by  the  fireside,  near  the  arm-chair, 

See  each  dear  face 

In  its  old  place, 
And  gaze  'til  I  feel  on  my  cheek  the  tear. 

I  go  to  the  church, 

'Neath  whose  worn  arch 
I  so  often  ran  in  life's  early  day; 

I  sit  in  the  pew 

As  I  used  to  do, 
With  the  dearly  loved  ones,  now  passed  away. 

Then  I  softly  tread 
By  the  quiet  bed 
Of  those  who  in  dust  are  sweetly  asleep ; 

Beneath  the  tree 

« 

White  tombs  I  see, 
And  there  I  sit  down  to  pray  and  to  weep. 

Ah  yes;  it  is  so! 

And  while  I'm  below, 
Sweet  home  of  my  childhood,  e'en  thus  will  it  be. 

Waking  or  sleeping, 

Joyful  or  weeping, 
My  thoughts  will  turn  back,  my  country,  to  thee. 


ACROSTIC.  17T 

By  night  and  day 

For  thee  I'll  pray, 
Where'er  over  earth  my  footsteps  may  rove ; 

And  when  angels  come 

And  carry  me  home, 
I'll  waft  thee  a  blessing  from  Heaven  above. 


ACROSTIC. 

[1856..! 

WHEN  I  look  on  the  child  whose  fond  mother  is  gone, 
And  left  him  to  wander  the  wild  world  alone, 
Low  and  softly  a  voice  seems  to  rise  on  my  ear — 
'Tis  an  echo  repeating  the  mother's  last  prayer — 
Ever  breathing  o'er  him  who  on  earth  was  her  joy, 
Re-echoing  sweetly,  God  bless  thee,  my  boy! 

Loved  friends  of  the  little  one,  lead  him  with  care; 
Ever  think  that  around  him  resoundeth  her  prayer, 
Whispered  in  silence,  wet  perhaps  with  a  tear. 
It  echoed  the  valley ;  death  could  not  destroy- 
So  tender  a  prayer,  God  bless  thee,  my  boy  ! 

God  bless  little  Walter  in  childhood's  fair  days; 
Every  year  that  he  grows  may  he  grow  in  His  grace. 
Oh,  may  he  betimes  choose  wisdom  and  truth, 
Remember  and  love  his  Creator  in  youth ! 
God  be  with  him  when  cares  riper  years  shall  employ. 
Echo  breathe  all  thro'  life,  God  bless  thee,  my  boy! 


OUR  TROUBLES. 

OUR  troubles  bind  us  like  a  cord— 
And  oh  !  how  oft'  the  knots  are  hard — 
And  gall,  and  fret,  and  cut  us  too; 
We  wish  that  we  could  break  it  throu'. 
Our  Father  says  bring  them  to  him. 
Why  weep  until  our  eyes  are  dim  ? 
He'll  make  the  cord  a  silken  chain, 
Smoothe  all  the  knots,  and  make  it  plain. 
Yes;  if  we  did  what  we  are  told, 
He'd  make  each  knot  a  link  of  gold. 


ISABELLA'S  BIRTHDAY. 

LITTLE  lively  maiden, 

I  will  wish  thee  joy; 
Happy  little  maiden, 

May  no  grief  annoy. 
Little  birds  are  singing, 

Merry  morn  of  May; 
Pretty  flowers  are  bringing 

Bella's  natal  day. 


ISABELLAS  SIR  THDA  Y.  179 

May  the  star  of  love 

Ever  shine  o'er  thee, 
And  like  the  tender  dove 

Thy  gentle  spirit  be. 
Long  may  gloomy  care 

From  thee  be  kept  away, 
And  joyous  many  a  year 

Be  Bella's  natal  day. 

May  Jesus  guide  thy  feet 

O'er  every  rugged  hill; 
When  storms  of  sorrow  beat, 

Whisper,  Peace,  be  still. 
May  lovely,  thornless  roses, 

Along  thy  pathway  lay, 
And  all  that  bliss  composes 

Bless  every  natal  day. 

Little  lively  maiden, 

Once  again  I  bless  thee; 
Happy  little  maiden, 

Every  good  I  wish  thee. 
If  God  will  guidance  give, 

I  need  ask  no  more; 
•  His  tender  love  will  live 

When  natal  days  are  o'er. 


TRUE  RELIGION;  WHERE  IS  IT? 

TRUE  religion!      It  dwells  in  a  heart  full  of  love 
For  the  Saviour  of  sinners,  who  came  from  above, 
Always  striving  the  path  of  the  just  to  pursue, 
With  the  meek  and  the  lowly  one  ever  in  view. 

He  who  has  it  will  ever  stand  up  for  the  right ; 
What  he  findeth  to  do  he  will  do  with  his  might. 
He'll  do  good  unto  all,  without  noise  or  display; 
Live  the  life  of  the  righteous  man  every  day. 

He  will  lift  up  the  fallen,  no  matter  how  low, 
And  sweet  sympathy  give  to  the  children  of  woe; 
Kindly  he'll  cheer  those  whose  joys  have  departed, 
And  bind  up  the  wounds  of  the  broken-hearted. 

It  matters  not  what  is  his  station  or  fame, 
Nor  the  church  book  in  which  is  written  his  name; 
It  matters  not  who  may  deride  or  despise; 
Down  deep  in  his  heart  is  the  pearl  of  great  price. 

True  religion  !    Ah,  why  is  the  jewel  so  rare  ? 
Why  so  many  false  diamonds  in  vanity  fair? 
Why  this  glitter  and  glare  ?  Oh,  alas,  alas 
For  the  tinkling  cymbals  and  sounding  brass! 


IF  WE  ONLY  KNEW.  181 

Oh  ye  who  possess  this  beautiful  gem, 

Let  it  shine  out  in  peace  and  good-will  to  men. 

Ah  yes !  let  it  glow  with  devotion  and  love; 

Its  full  worth  you  shall  know  in  the  mansions  above. 


IF  WE  ONLY  KNEW. 

AH  !  if  we  only  knew 
What  was  in  the  heart 

Of  those  who  love  us  true, 
Friends  would  seldom  part. 

If  we  could  only  read 
Passing  thoughts  within, 

Then  fewer  hearts  would  bleed, 
Words  not  cut  so  keen. 

We  meet  the  gloomy  frown, 
Glance  from  angry  eye, 

But  see  not  deeper  down 
Love  that  cannot  die. 

And  sometimes  scornful  sneers 
Meet  and  pain  our  sight. 

Oh  then  what  scalding  tears 
Pillows  wet  at  night ! 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

But  if  the  scorner's  mind 

We  could  only  know, 
It  may  be  we  should  find 

His  the  deepest  woe. 

How  oft'  we  make  mistakes, 

Misconstrue  a  word, 
And  deep  offenses  take, 

Cutting  like  a  sword. 

Like  wounds  from  random  shot, 

Sent  into  the  air; 
The  sportsman  meant  it  not, 

But  it  rankles  there. 

Oh  check  the  hasty  word; 

You  may  wound  a  friend, 
And  cut  the  silken  cord 

You  can  never  mend. 

Each  one  too  proud  to  stoop 
To  tell  the  pain  they  feel; 

The  head  and  heart  must  droop- 
Only  death  can  heal. 

God  help  us  wrath  to  check, 

Angry  language  fear, 
Lest  by  a  word  we  wreck 

Hearts  we  hold  most  dear. 


VAIN  WISHES. 

I  WISH  I  were  a  child  again, 
To  join  yon  little  throng; 

Climb  up  the  hill,  or  run  the  plain, 
And  sing  a  happy  song. 

I  wish  I  were  a  child  again, 
To  pick  the  prettiest  flower, 

And  garlands  make  with  evergreen 
To  deck  a  happy  bower. 

I   wish  I  were  a  child  again, 
With  healthy,  blooming  cheek, 

A  rosy  wreath,  or  daisy  chain, 
Thrown  round  my  little  neck. 

I  wish  I  were  a  child  again, 
To  jump  on  Father's  knee, 

Without  a  sorrow,  care,  or  pain, 
Ah!  then  I'd  happy  be. 

I  wish  I  were  a  child  again, 
In  dear  old  scenes  to  roam, 

And  hear  my  mother  call  my  name 
In  childhood's  happy  home. 


UH17BKSIT7 


184  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Vain  wishes  all !    Why  wish  them  ?    Why, 

E'en  if  it  could  be  so, 
Bring  back  the  loved  again  to  die, 
The  tears  of  the  long  ago  ? 


THE  SAILOR'S  WIFE  TO  HER  HUSBAND. 
[1838.3 

SAY,  wilt  thou  remember  me 
While  upon  the  billowy  sea? 
When  thou  view'st  the  water's  foam, 
Wilt  thou  think  of  me  at  home? 

When  the  moon's  arising  beams 
Tint  with  silver  light  the  streams, 
And  calm  and  still  the  sea  shall  be, 
Say,  wilt  thou  remember  me? 

When  the  wind  is  rough  and  high, 
When  the  clouds  obscure  the  sky, 
When  tost  upon  a  stormy  sea, 
Say,  wilt  thou   remember  me? 


THE  SAILOR'S  WIFE.  185 

Time  cannot  alter  my  regard; 
I  ask  then  this  for  my  reward. 
Oft'  shall  rise  a  prayer  for  thee, 
Say,  wilt  thou  remember  me? 

Should'st  thou  sink  beneath  the  wave, 
And  the  waters  prove  thy  grave, 
I  shall  ne'er  forgetful  be, 
I  shall  oft'  remember  thee. 

Or  should'st  thou  live  and  I  be  laid 
Beneath  the  green  grave's  quiet  shade, 
Say,  if  there  my  rest  shall  be, 
Wilt  thou  still  remember  me? 

But  I  will  hope  for  brighter  days, 
And  seek  Him  whom  the  storm  obeys, 
Pray  him  to  guide  thee  o'er  the  sea, 
And  bring  thee  back  to  home  and   me. 

Go,  then,  on  the  mighty  ocean; 
Meet  the  waves  in  wild  commotion; 
Ride  upon  the  stormy  sea, 
And  while  there  remember  me. 


13 


THE   POOR. 

"The  poor  is  hated  even  of  his  own  neighbor;  but   the  rich   hath  many  friends."     Proverbs 
14:  20. 

HERE'S  another  chime  from  the  old  church  bells. 
How  true  are  the  words  the  wise  man  tells  ! 
The  poor  are  hated— alas,  it  is  so ! 
But  the  rich  have  friends  wherever  they  go. 

The  truth  of  these  words  we  every  day  see 
Where'er  in  the  world  we  happen  to  be; 
Virtue  and  love  in  the  young  or  the  old 
Go  for  nothing  unless  'tis  edged  with  gold. 

Men  will  pass  the  poor  in  the  open  streets 
As  if  they  were  but  the  vilest  of  cheats, 
And  think  them  impostors  wherever  found, 
As  if  none  but  the  rich  were  true  and  sound. 

But  as  bad  hearts  beat  under  broadcloth  sure, 
Velvets,  and  silksj  as  beneath  garments  poor; 
Meanness  and  lies,  gilt  and  lettered  outside, 
Dishonesty  covered  with  robes  of  pride. 

And  so  it  will  be  while  time  shall  endure; 
The  poor  will  be  hated  because  they're  poor; 
The  rich  will  have  friends,  no  matter  how  vile. 
The  world  will  bow  to  the  wealthy  man's  smile. 


LOST.  187 

But  Oh!  there's  a  world  where  distinctions  cease; 
For  all  are  equal  in  that  land  of  peace. 
True  worth  is  the  wealth  in  that  country  fair, 
And  there's  nothing  but  worth  shall  enter  there. 


LOST. 

LOST,  an  innocent  girl, 

Once  a  precious  pearl, 
As  pure  and  as  white  as  the  beautiful  snow. 

She  fell  into  a  pit 

That  was  made  for  her  feet 
By  a  serpent,  who  watched  the  path  she  would  go. 

And  then  she  went  down — 

Alas!  deeper,  down,  down; 
For  no  hand  was  stretched  out  to  help  lift  her  up. 

No,  no;  'twas  down,  down 

'Neath  the  world's  dark  frown! 
The  wolf  bore  off  his  prey,  and  no  one  said,  Stop! 

Hark  !  'tis  midnight  dark 

By  the  river-side.  Hark! 
There's  a  splash,  and  a  cry,  one  loud  bitter  wail ! 

She  plunged  in  the  wave 

To  seek  rest  in  the  grave, 
And  hide  in  deep  waters  her  heart-broken  tale. 


1 88  MISCELLANEO  US. 

Now  they  have  found  her, 

How  they  crowd  around  her. 
Cold  her  beautiful  brow,  her  tresses  all  wet. 

They  wish  they'd  not  frown 'd — 

Who'd  have  thought  she'd  have  drown'dr* 
Too  late  now  to  pity;  too  late  to  regret. 

And  pray  what  of  him 

Who  did  this  base  thing? 
Has  society  blotted  his  name  out  of  sight[? 

Ah  no!  with  our  girls 

He  still  waltzes  and  whirls, 
And  escorts  them  as  usual  to  scenes  of  light. 

But  sometimes  at  night 

There's  a  figure  in  white 
That  calls  him  by  name,  and  stands  close  by  his  side; 

And  it  makes  him  start, 

Shakes  his  treacherous  heart — 
Ah,  what  would  he  give  from  that  face  could  he  hide ! 

But  no;  never,  no! 

Conscience  won't  let  her  go; 
She'll  follow  him  now  all  life's  future  to  come, 

And  she'll  meet  him  there 

At  God's  wonderful  bar, 
Where  deceivers  shall  meet  with  their  righteous  doom.. 


LITTLE  TWO-YEAR-OLD. 

LITTLE  darling  child, 

Full  of  spirits  gay, 
'Mid  the  flowers  wild, 

'Tis  thy  natal  day. 
Eyes  of  violet  blue, 

Curls  of  shining  gold, 
Cheeks  of  rosy  hue, 

Little  two-year-old. 

Heaven  bless  thee,  dear; 

Guide  thy  little  feet, 
Growing  every  year 

Firm  and  strong  and  sweet; 
Ever  keep  in  love, 

Safe  within  the  fold; 
Bless  thee  from  above, 

Little  two-year-old. 

Pity  cloud  should  cross 

Little  brow  so  fair, 
Pity  storm  should  toss 

Little  golden  hair;- 
But  it  will  be  so 

In  the  days  to  come. 
God  lead  safely  through 

To  his  blessed  home. 


190  MISCELLANEOUS. 

Paths  of  purest  peace 

May  thy  footsteps  tread : 
Paths  that  lead  to  bliss, 

Dear  one  be  thou  led. 
Father's  treasured  joy, 

Mother's  choicest  gold, 
Bless  thee,  darling  boy, 

Little  two-year-old. 


FLOWERS  IN  HEAVEN. 

MAMMA,  are  there  flowers  in  heaven  ? 

Said  a  little  child. 
Do  they  grow  there  in  a  garden, 

Or  in  meadows  wild  ? 

I  think  there  must  be  flowers 

In  that  place  so  fair; 
I  don't  see  the  use  of  bowers 

With  no  roses  there. 

Grandpa  says  there's  one  big  tree 
Every  month  has  fruit 

Don't  you  think  that  there  must  be 
Flowers  at  the  foot? 


PL  O  1  /  7:  A\S  7.V  HE  A  }  ~RX.  1  Hi 

:dpa  talked  to  me  last  night 
'Bout  the  streets  of  gold, 

/-.    .    ;  .   .  ;  -  Me  all  in  white — 

-  d  'twas  baby's  fold. 

But  'bout  the  flowers  he  did'nt  ktKiw— 

-  d  each  had  a  crown, 
And  harp  to  play  the  music  too, 

Round  G       s£    .den  throne, 

Now  I  don't  think  I'd  lik.   :     , 
Up  to  Heaven  at  all 

If  violets  sweet  would  never  grow, 
:-s  upon  the  wall. 

You  said  that  God  put  them  down  here 

\\~hen  he  made  the  world; 
1    :-  :  y.'U  th  nk  he  s got  diem  that  : 

Have  you  never  heard  ? 

>;  my  precious  darling  be 

Blooming  ever  fair, 
\\liy,  we  should  lose  a  wealth  of  joy 
Were  no  flowers  there. 


A  DREAM. 

I  LAID  me  down  upon  my  bed, 

With  burdened  heart  and  aching  head; 

For  care  had  sorely  pressed  that  day, 

And  I  had  longed  to  fly  away 

To  yonder  bright  and  peaceful  shore, 

Where  toil  and  care  are  known  no  more. 

And  as  I  laid  me  down  I  wept 

And  prayed  awhile  before  I  slept — 

When  suddenly  the  room  was  light, 

And  I  beheld  an  angel  bright! 

To  me  he  looked  like  silver  shining; 

To  me  he  said,  Cease  thy  repining. 

Since  discontented  thou  art  here, 

I  came  from  Heaven  to  take  thee  there. 

Come  now,  arise  at  once  and  stand, 

And  go  with  me  to  the  better  land. 

Without  one  word  I  quick  rose  up, 

Trembling  with  fear,  surprise,  and  hope. 

He  led  the  way,  the  door  passed  through, 

Then  took  the  wing  and  upward  flew. 

I  followed  him,  tho'  without  wings; 

My  heart  beat  high — what  mean  these  things? 

On,  on,  and  on,  above  the  sphere; 


A  DREAM.  193 

We  passed  the  moon  and  every  star, 

And  soon  the  earth  was  lost  to  sight. 

Then  I  beheld  a  glorious  light; 

Radiant  with  beams  of  every  hue 

It  shone  above  the  ether  blue. 

And  then  there  came  a  sweet,  sweet  calm— 

The  very  air  seemed  full  of  balm. 

It  was  a  quiet,  perfect  ease, 

Without  a  ruffle  on  the  breeze. 

A  gentle  sea  the  prospect  gave, 

Without  a  ripple  on  the  wave. 

Mountains  with  golden  peaks  were  seen, 

And  valleys  fair,  with  verdure  green. 

I  gazed  in  rapture  as  I  passed, 

Til,  at  the  pearly  gates  at  last, 

My  shining  guide  bade  me  stand  still 

And  wait  to  know  the  Master's  will. 

He  knocked,  then  left  me  standing  there— 

Again  took  wing,  I  knew  not  where. 

Ah,  then  my  heart  began  to  beat ! 

What  ?  am  I  then  at  Heaven's  gate  ? 

Can  I  have  passed  the  valley  drear 

Without  a  pang,  a  word,  a  tear  ? 

What !  crossed  the  dark  and  chilly  river 

And  entered  on  the  long  forever, 

And  knew  it  not,  and  took  no  leave 


194  %     MISCELLANEOUS. 

Of  all  the  loved  ones  left  to  grieve? 

And  my  account !     Oh !  is  it  right  ? 

I  have  not  balanced  every  night. 

Alas  !  there's  something  left  undone. 

How  shall  I  stand  before  His  throne  ? 

Quick  throbbed  my  heart.   I  shook  with  fear, 

And  cried,  O  Jesus,  meet  me  here. 

Just  then  I  heard  a  gentle  step 

Approach  me  as  I  stood  and  wept; 

And,  looking  up,  saw  one  draw  nigh, 

And  then  I  felt  my  Saviour  by. 

His  form,  his  face,  his  smile  I  knew, 

But  can't  describe  him  unto  you. 

Daughter,  said  he,  I  know  thee  well, 

Thy  patience  and  thy  faith  can  tell. 

I  know  through  strange,  dark  roads  I've  led, 

And  dreary  paths  have  made  thee  tread; 

But  if  thou  hadst  me  understood 

Thou  wouldst  have  known  'twas  for  thy  good, 

I  know  sometimes  thou  hast  well  done, 

But  from  thy  duties  left  out  one, 

And  that  neglecting,  lost  thy  crown. 

I've  sent  for  thee  to  tell  thee  this, 

Because  thou'rt  longing  for  thy  bliss; 

Wearied  of  earth,  thou  fain  would'st  be 

In  this  bright  world  along  with  me. 


A  DREAM,  195 

And  I  am  willing  thou  should'st  come 

To  rest  and  peace  in  this  sweet  home; 

But  as  undone  this  thing  is  now, 

I'll  put  no  crown  upon  thy  brow, 

Tho'  thou  mayest  walk  the  fields  of  light 

With  me  in  robes  of  spotless  white. 

But  I  will  let  thee  have  thy  choice — 

Stay  here  and  in  sweet  peace  rejoice, 

Or  back  to  earth  return  again, 

To  suffer  toil,  and  care,  and  pain, 

To  fight  again  with  many  a  foe, 

And  drink  up  many  a  cup  of  woe  ; 

But  midst  it  all  this  thing  to  do, 

And  do  it  earnest,  well,  and  true. 

If  so,  a  crown  thy  head  shall  wear, 

Studded  with  jewels  rich  and  rare, 

A  crown  where  countless  gems  shall  meet — 

And  thou  shalt  lay  it  at  my  feet. 

I'll  give  thee  too  the  fair  white  stone; 

The  hidden  name  shall  be  thy  own ; 

And  thou  shalt  sit  at  my  right  hand, 

Happiest  among  the  happy  band. 

Say,  daughter,  which  of  these  shall  be 

The  lot  that  I  shall  give  to  thee? 

It  needed  not  a  moment's  thought 

For  me  to  choose  the  thing  I  ought; 


196  MISCELLANEOUS. 

My  work  undone  has  given  me  pain. 

0  Saviour,  send  me  back  again ! 
I'd  rather  go  to  suffering  down 

Than  stay  in  Heaven  without  my  crown 
He  smiled,  then  said,  So  let  it  be. 
Go,  and  all  strength  I'll  give  to  thee, 
And  when  thy  work  on  earth  is  done, 
I'll  send  again  and  bring  thee  home. 
So  I  returned  at  once;  I  flew 
In  haste  all  down  the  ether  blue, 
Passed  all  that  I  had  seen  before, 
And  reached  again  my  open  door. 

1  laid  me  down  upon  my  bed, 

With  throbbing  heart  and  aching  head, 
But  better  rose,  and  wiser  too, 
Resolved  that  I  this  thing  would  do. 
I  found  undone  was  written  down, 
And,  being  so,  had  lost  my  crown. 
O  Jesus,  now  the  strength  supply, 
And  keep  me  faithful  'til  I  die. 


ENIGMA. 

I  WAS  in  the  very  first  ray  of  light 
That  came  at  Jehovah's  command, 

And  I  filled  the  world  that  in  space  stood  bright, 
Fresh,  and  fair  from  its  Maker's  hand. 

I  was  in  the  sun's  first  majestic  rise, 

In  its  grandest  glory  arrayed, 
In  the  purple  and  gold  of  its  setting  skies, 

As  it  glowed  in  the  evening  shade. 

I  was  in  the  moonlight's  silvery  rays, 

And  I  twinkled  in  every  star, 
In  those  wonderful  planets  that  roll  in  space, 

And  shine  like  diamonds  up  there. 

And  when  God  made  man  from  the  dusty  soil, 
In  his  own  blessed  image  to  stand, 

He  put  me  on  his  form,  his  brow,  and  his  smile, 
Most  glorious  work  of  his  hand. 

And  when  he  took  Eve  from  out  of  man's  side, 
And  formed  her  in  dignified  grace, 

And  gave  her  to  Adam,  the  first  lovely  bride, 
I  shone  in  her  innocent  face. 


198  MISCELLANEOUS. 

When  he  planted  the  garden,  I  was  there 
In  every  plant  and  bud  and  flower, 

In  every  vine,  with  its  tendrils  so  fair, 
Encircling  each  fragrant  bower. 

I  was  in  the  foliage  of  every  tree, 
In  the  plumage  of  every  bird, 

In  every  color  that  the  eye  could  see, 
And  in  every  song  that  was  heard; 

In  the  roses  and  lilies  and  dahlies  fine, 

The  violets,  and  bells  of  blue; 
Every  flower  that  bloomed  on  earth  was  mine, 

Of  every  shape  and  tint  and  hue. 

In  the  fowl  of  the  air,  the  fish  of  the  sea, 

And  in  every  created  thing; 
Yes;  in  everything  there  was  something  of  me, 

Walking,  creeping,  or  on  the  wing. 

I  shone  in  that  tree  that  stood  in  the  midst 
Of  the  pleasant,  flowery  path, 

In  that  wonderful  fruit  Eve  desired  to  taste, 
And  the  tasting  of  which  brought  death. 

When  the  first  pair  sinned,  I  hid  for  awhile — 
All  nature  was  gloomy  and  dark; 

But  I  came  again  in  the  first  baby's  smile, 
And  gladdened  the  poor  mother's  heart. 


ENIGMA.  199 

When  the  flood  came  on,  I  went  into  the  ark— 

In  various  forms  was  hidden  there, 
Safe  over  the  waters  'mid  the  storm  so  dark, 

Till  the  heavens  were  bright  and  clear. 

I  have  spread  ever  since,  and  shine  to-day — 

Ah,  yes;  brighter  by  far  than  then. 
All  over  the  world  I  am  holding  sway, 

And  sought  by  the  children  of  men. 

I  am  always  seen  in  the  baby's  smile, 

In  the  little  child's  golden  curls, 
And  dwell  sometimes  in  the  abodes  of  toil, 

With  the  bright,  rosy  boys  and  girls. 

Sometimes  I  shine  in  a  lady  of  grace, 
Dressed  in  fashion's  superb  array — 

Quite  as  oft'  perhaps  in  a  poor  girl's  face, 
Clad  in  garments  worn  every  day. 

I'm  in  works  of  art;  for  wise  men  of  skill 
Have  learned  how  to  make  me  themselves. 

In  millions  of  shapes,  as  it  suits  their  will, 
They  arrange  me  upon  their  shelves. 

I'm  in  stone,  in  marble,  silver  and  gold, 
In  wood  and  iron,  bronze  and  brass. 

Yes;  in  every  kind  of  metal  I'm  rolled, 
And  shine  in  china  and  glass. 


200  MISCELLANEOUS. 

You'll  find  me  in  mansions,  windows,  and  doors, 
In  mirrors,  mantels,  painted  halls, 

Instruments,  furniture,  carpets  on  floors, 
And  pictures  hung  up  on  the  walls. 

In  drawings,  paintings,  and  photograph  skill, 
In  music,  singing,  sight,  and  sound, 

Engravings,  pencilings,  and  prints  as  well, 
In  precious  stones  and  jewels  found. 

The  forms  and  material  in  which  I'm  made 

Are  too  many  by  far  to  tell; 
In  paper  and  wax  I'm  sometimes  displayed, 

And  in  books  that  are  written  well. 

The  rich  can  possess  me  in  larger  amount 
Than  can  the  humble,  toiling  poor; 

But  I'm  to  the  lowly  of  greater  account, 
And  nature  gives  me  to  them  pure. 

Sometimes  I'm  hid  beneath  rubbish  and  dirt — 

Choicest  gems  most  frequently  are- 
Only  brought  to  light  by  some  loving  heart, 
And  made  to  shine  out  bright  and  clear. 

Without  me  the  world  would  a  desert  be; 

All  pleasure  and  joy  would  depart; 
And  thoughts  of  Heaven  were  sad  without  me— 

There'd  be  nothing  to  cheer  the  heart. 


ENIGMA.  201 

But  I  shall  be  here  while  the  world  remains, 

In  the  fields,  the  birds,  the  flowers, 
In  the  sun's  grand  beams  at  morn  o'er  the  plains, 

And  its  gold  in  the  evening  hours; 

In  the  spangled  heavens,  and  silvery  rays 

Of  the  moon  in  the  silent  night, 
In  the  rainbow  hues  after  stormy  days, 

And  the  snowflakes,  so  soft  and  white. 

There  are  those  who  can  always  see  my  face 

Wherever  I  happen  to  be- 
There  are  others  who  never  in  any  case 

Have  an  eye  that  will  light  on  me. 

There  are  some  who  have  loved  me  from  youth  to  age, 

Yes,  all  thro'  the  long,  long  ago, 
And  they  talk  to  the  children  with  wisdom  sage 

Of  my  face,  that  they  used  to  know. 

And  sometimes  there  are  those  the  mount  will  climb 

When  the  pearly  gates  are  ajar 
Ah !  then  they  behold  me  in  thought  sublime 

In  the  streets  of  gold  over  there. 

I'll  shine  for  aye  on  those  evergreen  hills, 

And  the  flowers  that  ever  bloom, 
In  the  white-robed  crowds  by  the  crystal  rills, 

And  the  gems  that  deck  every  crown. 


202  MISCELLANEOUS. 

But  now  I  think  I  have  said  quite  enough 
Of  myself  and  wonderful  fame. 

Its  surely  time  you  should  try  to  find  out, 
And  write  down,  if  you  can,  my  name. 

I'm  first  in  blessing,  and  first  in  Eden, 
First  in  Adam,  and  first  in  union; 

I'm  first  in  time,  in  eternity  last, 
Put  me  together  and  hold  me  fast. 


ADDRESS. 

Go,  my  little  book; 
Go  with  words  of  love; 
Tell  all  who  in  thee  look 
Of  the  home  above, 
Where  sorrow  is  unknown, 
Where  no  grief  can  come; 
Where's  no  trembling  fears, 
Where's  no  bitter  tears; 
Where's  no  angry  breath, 
Where  there  is  no  death, 
Where  there  is  no  tomb; 
Where  sweet  flowers  bloom, 
Courteous  reader,  dear, 
May  we  meet  up  there. 


01 

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